The Art Of War
by Kristen999
Summary: A formidable foe seeks victory when he controls all aspects of power.  Warrick and Nick become reluctant soldiers in a battle where their adversary knows their every move. Ch 22 up. Complete
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Art of War

Author: Kristen999 and everybetty (Beth)

Category: Action/Adv/Angst

Spoilers: General for seasons 1-5. Set several months after "Grave Danger".

Disclaimer: All rights belong to CBS and all their fine writers. Please don't sue. This is just for fun.

Summary: A formidable foe seeks victory when he controls all aspects of power. Warrick and Nick become reluctant soldiers in a battle where their adversary knows their every move.

Notes : This is a co-authored piece by everybetty (Beth) and Kristen999. Each chapter was written by both authors to give a seamless feel and flow to the story. Any comments should be directed to both writers. This is definitely a different kind of story and a pure thrill ride. So, sit back and enjoy this roller coaster, and brace your self for a bumpy ride.

Warnings: This story does contain some course language as well as violent situations.

* * *

Warrick Brown stormed outside in the early morning air. The coolness did nothing to tame the fire feeding his temper or slow how fast he barged out of the building. He almost jabbed his eye as he slammed on the shades that were obviously unnecessary at this early in the morning. He dug into his jeans pocket, long strides carrying him away from the building responsible for his pissy mood.

He came across his car, keys jingling, and dropped them once. He cursed as he bent down to swipe them up. He heard the hurried footsteps of shoes pounding the pavement behind him. Within seconds his ears perked up at the sound of rapid heavy breathing from someone trying to catch up to him.

"Hey, Man. Don't go stormin' out like that, when we're not done talking."

Warrick braced himself on the car door, that Texan accent forcing him to turn around.

He was happy he had on his sunglasses, so Nick couldn't see the glare being sent his way.

"Nothin' to jab about, man. It's over. Call it a day," he said, trying to end the conversation before it began. Well, the one out here, anyway.

Nick's hands were on his hips, his eyes blazing, and chest heaving. Warrick recognized 'determined' Nick and knew his escape was now irrefutably delayed.

The other CSI ground the gravel beneath his left boot, channeling energy and frustration.

"All I was saying, was cut him some slack. Greg's still new. He's gonna make rookie mistakes."

Warrick wasn't about to back down from his previous statements. "Rookie mistakes? They're called preconceptions. Biases. You can't unlearn those," he hissed.

Nick slid his tongue between his lips and began gnawing on his bottom one. The gears were turning, justifications being made from the look in his eyes, and the way his shoulders sagged just a little.

There it was. The slight sigh.

"Look, Warrick. Roger Davis fit the profile. He was the same height, the same size. He lived--"

"--On the wrong side of town. On the east side of Fremont, so of course he was the most logical suspect." Warrick cut his friend off in mid sentence. "Greg was just itching to grab this guy and nail him, and then of course he cons you into doing the interview cuz he's too nervous to try to talk down the 'big brother'."

Nick gawked at his partner. He walked past his friend, kicked at his tire and turned around slowly, those brown eyes disbelieving the words he'd uttered.

"You think that?" He inched closer. "Do you really?" he whispered.

Warrick closed his eyes, another good thing about his shades. Always keep the poker face. "No... I don't." He crossed his arms in front of him. "Not of Greg."

Nick stared upwards now, not making eye contact, even if he could. He leveled his gaze and swallowed to ease himself into a calmer demeanor.

"I _had_ to go into that interview. Greg can't lead one. You know that."

Warrick rolled his shoulder blades, the sounds of vertebrae rubbing against each other popped in the early day. "Yeah. It's just that asshole detective..."

"Cavalier," Nick responded with a knowing tone.

Warrick lifted his eyebrows. "Yeah, _that_ guy. That cop was a punk. Rubbed me the wrong way."

Nick tilted his head, another signal of acceptance. "We have to deal with jerks like that day in, day out. I've gotten on his bad side a few times already." He sighed, long and loud. "Just don't pin your anger on Greggo, Man. He's stressed out enough trying to juggle extra lab duty and field work."

Warrick grunted. "He needs to stop kissing so much ass. Real easy fix there."

Nick held his jaw tightly. "Do I need to look for flying Coke cans in my direction anymore?"

Warrick bristled on the inside. "You were in my space, Bro. Telling me to back off, discrediting me in front of that jerk-off cop." He leaned against the smooth steel at his back. The cool exterior of his vehicle felt nice and relaxing behind him. "I shouldn't have thrown it at ya. I'm sorry, Man."

Nick nodded his head absently. "Well, now you know how it feels to be accused of having too much empathy."

Warrick snorted. "I still think we're talking about two extremes. But, it's all good."

Both men stared at each other. An uncomfortable silence lingered in the air. Each criminalist tried to slow down the strung-out emotions that were firing on all cylinders, still blazing hot from just moments ago.

Warrick tried to laugh it off. "You still coming over for the game?"

Nick looked past him. His eyes told Warrick all he needed to know. Damn, but sometimes his partner was a bit over-sensitive.

"Nah, Man. I'm just gonna drink a few beers and head to bed. I'm tired."

The lanky CSI felt the tension ebb away from his shoulders only to be replaced by the heaviness of regret. "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

Nick gave him one his patented forced smiles. It disturbed him as they always did. His partner was such an easy person to read: fake grins and bad jokes had been signals of a far from easy transition back to field work of late.

Nick slid on his orange-tinted sunglasses, a huge warning to his partner that he was still stinging from the argument considering it was only dawn and they weren't exactly needed yet. Warrick pushed the remote to open the door of his car and was in and starting the engine as his buddy walked away.

"I don't need this today," Warrick growled to himself as he drove back home to his new wife, hoping to put this night behind him.

* * *

Warrick smiled when his wife greeted him at the door. She always did that; he'd found it to be a new and welcome experience. To know that no matter how fucked up his day had gone, her warm smile and sensitive hands could make it all melt away.

She held him tight, rubbing at the back of his neck. He again gave a silent thanks that their schedules meshed so well. They both worked graveyard shift, but Tina always tended to get home before him from the hospital, and she would wait up for him no matter how tired or long her own day.

Tina Brown kissed her husband deeply. He ran his hands through shoulder-length hair and picked her up off of her feet as he swung them both over to the sofa. Warrick leaned over his wife with his long lanky body, kissing her cheeks, lips, and neck.

She laughed under him, breaking away enough to gaze into his eyes. "Another bad day?"

He laid his body along the couch, keeping her flush alongside him. Her smaller form kept him warm, and he brushed his fingers gently over her bare arms as he spoke.

"Not really a tough case. Just had to deal with an asshole detective all day. Tempers flared."

She snuggled closer to him, grabbing one of his hands and kissing the finger tips.

"You get into a fight with this detective?"

Warrick closed his eyes, burying his face into her silky dark hair, taking in the scent of apricots from her shampoo. "Sort of. We butted heads, but I kind of got into it with Greg and Nick." Warrick breathed in deeply the relaxing scent, rubbing his hands along her sides. "Mainly with Nick."

Tina rolled over so she was facing her husband. "You and Nick normally don't fight." She cupped his face. "You all right?"

Warrick planted his lips along her forehead. "I will be. I hate fighting with him. He can push my buttons sometimes, but I can punch his right back," he said with regret.

Tina played with the collar of his shirt. "Nick is thick-skinned. You guys are best friends. Buddies _do_ argue from time to time. Sometimes it's like a marriage," she said with a wry grin.

Warrick laughed, surprised at how good it felt. "You comparing me and Nick to a married couple?"

His wife pressed her pointer finger to his lips, silencing him. "Don't laugh, silly. In certain professions the bonds you make with teammates are sometimes as strong if not stronger than the ones you share with your spouse. It might not have the same intimacy, but deep-rooted friendship, especially in a stressful field, is very important."

Warrick smiled. "I married a very smart lady."

Tina's grin widened, her eyes sparkling. "I know. Nick is your best friend so don't worry. You guys have been through Hell and back. He'll be fine."

"Hell and back," he laughed ruefully. "You got that right." He sighed and ran a hand down her back, approaching that fine backside he loved so much when they were rudely interrupted by the phone ringing. His hand abruptly stopped trailing down her hip and dropped dejectedly. "Do _not_ go anywhere. Let me get this."

She gave him a coy smile that said she'd be right where he left her.

He grunted playfully as he disentangled himself from his wife's body and hauled himself off the couch. He jogged to the small kitchen at the back of the house and snatched up the cordless moments before the machine picked it up. A quick glance at the caller ID read "Blocked". He groaned, pissed off that a telemarketer call was interrupting his evening and answered the phone rather sharply.

"Yeah?"

"Uh.. Ricky? That you, Dawg?"

The voice was tinny, like from a payphone or bad cell connection. Hesitant. Slightly higher-pitched male voice. And familiar somehow.

"This is Warrick Brown. Who's this?" he asked, an edge to his voice.

"It's Kenny, Man. Kenny Longman."

"Kenny Longman? Kenny from Walnut Street?" Deeply buried images started floating to the surface.

"Yeah, Man. Long time no talk."

"Yeah.. _long_ time, Man. What's up?" His voice was casual but he couldn't hide the suspicion that tinted his voice.

"Man, am I glad to talk to you, Bro. I hear you're a cop now, huh?"

"I work with the police, yeah. But what's this all about Kenny? I haven't talked to you in -what? A decade at least? How did you get my number anyway?" Warrick and the rest of his coworkers had long ago taken unlisted numbers to avoid angry calls and threats while they were on cases.

"I found it, Bro. Doesn't matter. I need to talk to you, Man." The voice fumbled on the phone, the sound of the caller's flesh rubbing on the receiver. His voice momentarily faded as if he had pulled his face away, then returned quickly, only to be taken down to a whispery mumble. Warrick tightened his grip on the phone and pushed it harder into his ear to try to catch the caller's words.

"Look, I can't talk here, Bro. I need your help. Can you come meet me?"

"Meet you? Kenny, Man. We haven't talked in like ten years and you want me to jet over there cuz you called out of the blue? Now tell me what the hell this is all about," his voice harshening with impatience.

"Ricky, Man. I _can't talk here._ You've got to meet me. Please. I'm beggin' you, Man. Don't make me remind you how you owe me."

Warrick sighed and rubbed at his face. Memories he hadn't accessed since his childhood began to rise to the forefront of his mind.

"Yeah. I remember. Where you wanna meet?" he asked tiredly.

"Remember where we used to hang after school?"

"Yeah - the--"

"Yeah! There. Come alone. And come quickly, okay?"

"Yeah- it'll take me about twenty to get there," he said, quickly mapping out the trip in his head.

"I'll be here." The phone abruptly hung up.

The dead phone hung in his hand, still pressed to his face as he tried to digest the substance of the phone call. He closed his eyes and summoned up a picture of the Kenny he knew back then.

Small, wiry little guy. Clothes always two sizes too big, picked up at the local thrift store. Thick glasses with yes, tape around one corner holding on the ear piece. And nervous as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs.

_What the hell kinda trouble did you get yourself into now, Kenny?_

His next obstacle was Tina. He had her all revved up and ready to go on the couch. Her perfume still clung to his hands and clothes. So how was he supposed to get out of the house without causing her concern? Eight months since they'd been married and he was already sneaking out of the house on her.

He put the phone down and plastered a ticked-off look on his face, which wasn't that hard to do. Slumped into the living room and gave Tina a shrug and an apologetic look.

"Whaaat? Who was it?" she said, disappointment already in her voice.

"It was the lab. They need me to come back in . Catherine had to call in - Lindsey is sick or something. I won't be long though. They called in another replacement- I'm just needed for a bit til they show."

He saw disbelief creeping onto her face and he quickly leaned over and gave her a slow lingering kiss. "And when I get back, we can finish _this_, okay?"

"I don't know if I'll still _want_ to finish this when you get back," she said, a playful pout on her gorgeous features. He knew she was disappointed but her hazel eyes still had a smile in them.

"Oh, I think I know how to make you _want _this," he said, returning to give her a longer kiss, then reluctantly pulling away. He left her on the couch, her eyes dreamily half-slit and licking her lips. _Damn you, Kenny!_

He grabbed up his keys and his jacket and his service piece and badge from where he had unhooked them and left them on the hall table. He pulled open the front door to find his partner standing on his doorstep, finger paused in midair in front of his doorbell. The sight of Nick framed against the early morning sky brought him up short and he stopped mid-stride in the doorframe, juggling his keys in his hand.

"Hey, Warrick. Where you off to in such a hurry?"

Warrick glanced apprehensively back into the house, and, noting that Tina was only barely out of earshot, he pulled the door shut behind him and stepped out to join Nick on the stoop.

"Hey, Nick. I, uh, got a call. Gotta boogie. What are you doing here?"

"I, uh, thought we might talk about earlier. Where you off to?" Nick repeated.

"Nothing to talk about, Bro. I think we said all that needed to be said."

Nick looked questioningly at him, surprised to hear the impatience in his friend's voice.

"Actually," he began slowly, "I'd say with a response like that that we _do_ have some stuff to talk about. Warrick, Man I-

"No time, Nick. No need and no time. Told ya. I gotta jet."

Nick nodded. "Yeah, alright. I get ya. But why so mysterious? Did you and Tina -?

"You know, Nick- what goes on between me and _my wife_ is of no concern to you. So back off and let me by." Warrick planted a forearm against his friend's chest and gave him a shove as he attempted to get by him on the narrow concrete stoop.

Nick took a stumbling step backwards, his ankle twisting painfully as he dropped down onto the soft grass. Warrick saw the pained look on Nick's face and while not knowing about the ankle, noted the pain in his partner's eyes and knew he put it there. He had no time to explain or apologize so he pushed on past and climbed up into the cab of his truck, turned the key over, and threw it into reverse out the driveway, cutting off a car coming down the road, its driver leaning on his horn and thrusting a middle finger into the air out the window. Paying the irate driver no mind he shoved it into drive, and slammed the pedal down, leaving a streak of burnt rubber at the end of his driveway.

Half an hour later he found himself on Chestnut Street back in his old neighborhood. He thought he might get lost but everything was pretty much the way it was when he left. He hadn't been back since college when his Grams passed.

There was the bike shop where he used to hang around staring longingly at the shiny ten-speeds in the window. There was the neighborhood bar, same neon Colt 45 sign glowing above the door. He had a feeling if he went in he'd see the same tired faces perched on stools at the bar, nursing watered-down drinks.

And here was the abandoned building at the corner with Elm that he and Kenny used to hang out in everyday after school. He and Kenny had banded together to hide from the bullies in school; their primary bonds those of fear and a love of science.

Warrick remembered how they first met. He'd been running from Jerome Kendall, a mean hulking beast, still in eighth grade after his second try. Warrick had been his favorite target after the English teacher asked him to tutor Jerome. He had shown up after school, a copy of _Great Expectations _hugged to his scrawny chest, and Jerome had loomed over him, pointing a fat finger at him over the book. He could still feel the sting of the finger in his sternum as Jerome had told him how he was gonna write that book report for him and it had better get a "C" or else.

Stupidly, he had replied that if he wrote it, it would probably get an A and he watched as anger bubbled up in Jerome's eyes. He'd flung Dickens to the floor and taken off, as fast as his still short spindly legs would take him, out the front doors and into the streets. He rounded the corner on Elm and ducked into an abandoned dry cleaners on the corner, small enough to fit through a gap in the boards covering the entranceway. He had leaned against the wall, his chest and lungs burning as he gasped for air, when he felt a hand on his arm. He had yelped and tried to pull away, whipping his head around to see Kenny crouched down hiding behind the counter, put a finger to his lips and beckon him back into the rear of the building. He joined his new friend, leaving behind the sound of Jerome's voice outside bellowing threats at him.

The building had remained abandoned, no urban renewal in this part of town. He locked up the truck and threw a look up and down the street, not exactly knowing why he was feeling so paranoid, but comforted when he saw no traffic, foot or otherwise. Not unusual at such an early hour.

He eyed the opening in the boards he once fit through with a doubtful eye. Pulling aside the wood he felt it give under his grasp and come free from the surrounding frame. Kenny must have already been in here.

He crouched down and let himself into the room, his eyes taking a minute to adjust to the deeper darkness. A form emerged from the shadows, and stepped out in front of him.

It was Kenny. Same old Kenny. The guy hadn't grown but a few more inches, topping out around five seven. Still weighed a buck and a quarter if that. His clothes fit a bit better but still looked second hand. An olive drab zip-up hoodie over camouflage pants tucked into black boots. The eighties fade was gone, his hair now grown out in long thin braids he caught up in a rubber band at the back of his head. And he stilled bobbed nervously, his hands moving constantly, worrying at a scab or at his mouth where his teeth would gnaw at his nubby nails. Kenny dropped his hand from where it was currently playing with a braid and stuck it out for Warrick to shake in their knuckle-knocking manner. Warrick hesitantly stuck his fist out and let Kenny hit it, stiffening when Kenny leaned over to try to pull him into a one-armed hug. Kenny must have felt his displeasure because he backed off and the hand returned to his hair.

"Ricky, Dude. Damn you got tall!" A low whistle escaped his mouth. "I remember when I used to have a few inches on you."

"Yeah, I grew up, Kenny. And it's not Ricky. It's Warrick. I grew out of that, too."

"Yeah, I guess you did, Ri- I mean Warrick. Man needs his respect, he gonna be a cop an all, I guess."

"I'm not a cop, Kenny. I'm a CSI. A scientist. So now we're all caught up, hows about you fill me in on what the cloak and dagger bullshit is for."

Kenny lowered his voice and leaned in towards Warrick as if he was afraid to speak loudly even in their hidden circumstances.

"I pissed the wrong guy off, Warrick. I uh, sorta took something that didn't belong to me and I got caught."

"So you're a thief now, Kenny? Why you calling me about it? Who's this 'wrong guy'?"

Kenny hesitated, drew in a deep breath and whispered a name Warrick hadn't heard in several years. "I think it was The Voice, Warrick. And he's after me."

* * *

tbc... 


	2. Chapter 2

Warrick drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to a non-existent beat in the car. The radio was off but the air was on full blast. His sunglasses glinted as the evening sun shone brightly in their reflection. The newest investigation involved the disappearance of a wife and mother of two young boys. Her husband's alibi was shaky, his whereabouts vague at best. He was a prime suspect; each partner knew it, but the trinity of evidence still needed to be discovered.

So, when the missing mother's Ford had been discovered ten miles away, with obvious signs of being involved in some sort of accident the vehicle had been towed to the lab and waited for the two criminalists to head up there and continue their work. The Swing shift was down a few people, out with the flu, and Nick and Warrick had been asked to come in earlier than their normal Graveyard shift.

Nick clasped the top two buttons of his blue-striped shirt. He normally kept his neck exposed, as he usually worked up a sweat working in such heat. However, Warrick had it so freezing in the car, he swore he could keep a frozen drink in hand, with no qualms about it melting anytime soon. He stole a glance over at the driver's side, noting the absence of their usual small talk. He fiddled with his ring, idly spinning it around his finger. He despised these long periods of non-communication; it was more exasperating than any kind of argument.

Nick cleared his throat, something he often did when he was uncomfortable. If he had been paying close attention he would have seen Warrick's body stiffen, noticing the unconscious gesture as he prepared for the inevitable.

"Is everything cool at the homestead?' Nick asked, trying to keep things casual, not overbearing.

"Yeah, things are good," Warrick responded.

Nick recognized evasiveness; he was quite good at it himself. His partner's answer lacked the usual excitement and happiness in his voice that he'd had of late. Especially since his new marriage seemed to have given him a whole new outlook and spark in his life.

"You sure?" Nick pushed, just a bit.

Warrick's mouth formed a thin line, his voice gruffer. "I told you-everything's cool."

Warrick coughed a little as rubbed at his face in irritation. He swore lightly under his breath and glanced at his watch.

Nick had noticed the signs of an impending illness in his friend: the scratchy voice and constant rubbing of his eyes. He stretched his body as best he could in the seat. "You feelin' okay?" He tried not to laugh at a question that he'd been asked many times since his leave of absence.

Warrick slumped his shoulders. "Nah. I think I'm catching a cold, ya know? I can always tell and I really don't want to deal with Tina. She'll get all worked up. If I get this thing that Swing shift has, I'll be so pissed… mind if we stop by the store or something?"

"No problem, man."

"Cool." Warrick found the nearest drug store and parked the SUV.

Nick got out of the car at the same time, hesitating as the other man gave him an almost paranoid expression. Nick could tell Warrick was trying to cover up his reaction, then saw him just shrug it off. Nick got the impression that he had been expected to stay in the car.

Both men entered the store, nodding hello to the employees. They always got odd reactions to their vests and side arms, or a simple nod of respect towards authority. Warrick went down the cold medicine aisle, picked up some Benadryl, and headed towards the counter. Nick stopped by the magazine area, his attention split between _The Great Outdoors _and _Sports Illustrated_.

Nick rifled through both, thumbing at the pages as his friend went to the drug counter and inquired about some asthma medication. Nick was never a very good poker player; whenever he got an amazing hand something always gave him away. So, while his partner spoke to the pharmacist about medication for a condition that he obviously didn't suffer from, he couldn't help but give off all the signs that he'd been eavesdropping.

"Sir, your check card has been declined."

Nick had been as nonchalant as possible, but now he stared over at his partner.

Warrick held onto his debit card confused, his body leaned over the counter. "What? Try it again, Man."

The older clerk simply shrugged and swiped it, waiting. Nick felt his body inch closer as the kindly gentleman gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Mr. Brown. Declined again."

Warrick riffled with the plastic cards in his wallet in confusion, grumbling under his breath. Upset, but obviously not wanting to make a scene. "Fine. Take my MasterCard."

Again the employee waited for his computer to dial out, then glanced at the screen, his expression indicating the negative results.

"Um. It's been declined as well" The clerk tried to busy himself with an over the counter display, evidently trying not to appear condescending with a person of the law.

Warrick, frustrated, tapped his plastic on the countertop. "Your machine must be having issues. I got no problem with my finances."

The clerk shifted away nervously. "It's been working fine all morning, Sir."

Before Warrick could press the issue, obviously ticked off at the turn of events, Nick calmly pulled out a few bills from his wallet and slid them over to the increasingly uncomfortable clerk.

"This should cover it, right?" Nick asked, not eying his partner. He didn't want to come across the wrong way. He simply wanted to put an end to Warrick's discomfort. There had to be some mix up at the bank. No need for his partner to get worked up.

The transaction complete, Warrick grabbed his items. He mumbled a "Thanks," to Nick under his breath.

Nick could understand his irritation: it was a humiliating situation, but he was still irked about the whole strangeness of it.

Nick waited for some off the cuff explanation for the purchase, but was treated to more silence on the ride back to the lab. He had never been a nosey guy, but as Warrick had gone to great measures to hide something from him, it only served to put him in a bad mood.

By the time the two men arrived back and changed into their coveralls, the tension between them kept them on edge. Warrick, miffed at an obvious financial foul up; Nick slightly hurt at the feeling of deception. To make matters worse, Warrick's cell phone continued to shrill in the garage every ten minutes. Each time, his partner walked away to answer it, and came back even more irritated. Nick's curiosity battled his discomfort at his friend's odd behavior.

* * *

Each CSI took an opposite end of the car and inspected the body for damage. The Ford had left tire tracks all over the road, indicating that whatever it had encountered, it had done so at a very high rate of speed. For whatever reason, the victim didn't or couldn't stop in time before her car made impact with another vehicle.

The accident was surrounded by suspicious circumstances. Both men worked in odd silence for the next hour, only speaking when it regarded something about of the car, or to point out clues of possible value in the investigation.

Nick was finished with the front side, and he rubbed his gloves over the front of his coveralls, smearing oil stains over the chest. Warrick grumbled under his breath, apparently still unable to find the cause for the odd accident.

Nick looked over. "Smashed hood, taillights, green paint transfer. Still don't know why she didn't hit the brakes."

Warrick suppressed a small cough and furrowed his brow. "I got some damage on the rear bumper. Like she'd been hit from behind and forced off the road." He looked over at Nick. "Think someone tampered with the brakes?"

Nick tilted his head to one side thinking. "Could be."

The Texan went over to one of the massive toolboxes, his eyes scanning the floor until he came across the piece of equipment he'd been searching for. He found the sliding board and carried it over as Warrick stripped off his work gloves and exchanged them for latex ones as he prepared to dust for fingerprints.

As Nick brought the board over, he looked up to see Gil Grissom enter the garage.

"This the vehicle in the Robinson case?"

Warrick sighed. "Yeah. Still trying to figure out what happened. We're about to check for a faulty, or tampered brake line."

Warrick walked over to where Grissom was standing, as Nick placed the board down in preparation for going under the car.

"I've got spill over from Day shift, so let me know your progress. Your labs are back from Trace," the supervisor explained.

Warrick nodded, as he caught Nick staring intently over at the equipment, a slight hesitation in his movement. Warrick eyed the car, then his cautious partner, and back over at Grissom who had finished talking. Grissom was apparently oblivious to Nick's reluctance.

"Yeah- will do," Warrick replied as he put his work gloves back on and walked over to Nick who was too engrossed in thought to take notice of his approach.

"I'll talk to you later." Gil waved, as he left the garage in a hurry, off to hand out more tasks.

Warrick walked over to Nick. "Hey, Grissom says our samples are back. You mind getting the results? I don't want to deal with Hodges."

Nick simply nodded, his demeanor a bit more relaxed and wandered away. Warrick followed him with his eyes and then lay down on the sliding board and went under the automobile to search for any signs of mechanical foul play.

Twenty minutes later he found himself seething under five tons of metal. He had already found the cut brake lines. They'd been partially soldered back into place so only his close examination of them had shown the tampering. The seething was because while he lay there his phone had rung three more times. He took several deep breaths and tried to bring his heartbeat down to more manageable levels. His head thrummed in time with his heart as his frustration built.

As the phone began to ring yet again he kicked off with one booted heel and shoved the rolling board out from under the vehicle in a rapid whoosh- winding up halfway out into the garage. He leapt up and snagged his phone from off the stool and snapped it open, noting the "ID blocked" message, and "3 missed calls".

"Yeah? … Yeah, I know… yeah, all right…I said _all right_! Damn!"

He popped the phone shut with a muttered curse, his eye catching sight of Nick, standing a few feet away with a manila folder under his arm.

His friend looked at him with a cocked eyebrow and an expression of concern.

"Everything all right, Warrick?" he said slowly.

"Yeah, fine. Just something I gotta take care of." He began to unzip his dark blue coverall as Nick stood where he had entered.

"Something about this case?"

"Nah. It's nothing," he said as he tossed the dirty coverall into a pile next to the stool.

"I got those results back from Hodges…you have time to go over them?"

"Nope." He snagged his ID badge and his service piece, throwing the necklace on and under his shirt, and snapping the piece on to his belt.

He saw Nick cast his eyes downward, a slight hurt expression on his face.

"Is this about the car..?"

"What? No. No- I told you- just something I gotta take care of. Tell Grissom I'm on dinner if he asks." And with that he half jogged to the back door off the garage that lead to the parking lot, leaving Nick standing where he'd been since he entered, folder in hand, and not a clue what was going on with Warrick.

* * *

Five minutes later Warrick stood in the parking lot, patting down his pockets for the second time. He glanced up to see his partner walking across the lot, a set of keys dangling teasingly out of his hand.

"Forget something?" Nick asked with a half smile.

Warrick grabbed the keys, no sign of gratitude in his manner, and turned towards the truck. As he put his hand on the door handle he felt something touch his arm. He whirled around to see Nick standing there, his expression of mixed anger and concern.

"You mind telling me what the hell is going on with you?"

"None of your concern, Nick. I'll see you in a bit." He turned back to try the door again when the hand on his arm pulled him back around.

"You think I'm stupid? Or deaf? Man, your phone has been ringing nonstop the last couple hours."

"It's personal, Nick- just let it go." He shook the hand free of his arm, turning and finally succeeding in getting the truck door open. He had just hauled himself up into the seat when a man on an old-fashioned looking bicycle pulled into the parking lot, its driver obviously looking for someone.

Warrick sighed and shook his head as he climbed back down out of the truck, slamming the door shut with another muttered curse, and gave the bike rider a wave with an upheld hand. The bike rider quickly turned towards them and pulled up along side the truck. He stood over the bike, balancing it between his legs, obviously poised to take back off on the bike at an instant. The rider cast long looks at Nick, his expression clearly that of suspicion verging on distaste.

"Kenny, Man. I told you I was coming by. Why you gotta be showing up here like this?"

Warrick cast an uneasy eye over at Nick, his friend clearly intrigued by the presence of this stranger that Warrick was talking to. He sighed, knowing this was just gonna complicate things, but that he'd have no choice but to offer at least an introduction.

"Nick, this is Kenny. Kenny, this is my partner Nick."

Kenny gave Nick a surly half nod, as if unwilling to even acknowledge his presence. Then turned right back around to face Warrick, giving his back to Nick still standing there.

"Ricky, you said you'd be by an hour ago." Warrick raised both eyebrows and gave him a death ray look. "Sorry. Warrick. Look man, you can't be leaving me hanging like this. You _know_ what this guy can do. I gotta keep movin'. Can't let him find me, Bro."

His words came out in a breathless wheeze of panic, tumbling over each other, his voice raising another octave from its already higher pitch.

"Okay. Okay, man. Just relax. Hold on a second…" and he opened the truck back up, reaching over to a brown paper bag sitting in the center console. He grabbed the bag and took out an asthma inhaler, ripping the box open and handing the medicine to the wheezing man.

Kenny popped the cap in a well-practiced motion, gave it a shake, and held it to his mouth, taking in a large breath and holding it. As the medicine entered his lungs he slowly exhaled.

He quickly resumed talking, his voice slightly more modulated, his breathing a bit easier.

"Thanks, Bro. Haven't had any for a few days. This guy's had me chasing all over the city. I don't think there's anyplace left. I don't wanna go back to our place. It's too dangerous. We gotta _do_ something, Bro. I gotta _go_ somewhere. You gotta help me, Man."

Nick stood by, arms crossed in front of his chest, as he watched the man, who was obviously petrified by something, pleading for help from his best friend.

Warrick just stood there, with a hip cocked to lean against the truck and an angry but resigned look on his face, while Kenny blabbered.

"Kenny. Kenny!" Warrick interrupted the next ramble before it started. "Put your bike in the back of the truck."

Kenny opened his mouth to protest or begin another spiel- unknown which one it was going to be because Warrick held up a hand, stopping him in mid breath. "Put. Your. Bike. In the truck." The smaller man shook his head and cast another glare at Nick, but kicked a leg over the bike and began to roll it to the back of the truck.

Nick leaned forward to begin to ask Warrick for an explanation but the hand went back up in Nick's face.

"Leave it alone, Nick. I'm gonna take Kenny back to my place. I'll explain later."

"Rick, Man. Who _is_ this guy?"

"He's an old friend, " he said with attempted finality.

"What's his deal, Warrick? Why is he blathering about somebody trying to get him? Are you guys in some kinda trouble, cuz--"

Warrick leaned in to put his face closer to his friend's. In a lowered voice he ground out between clenched teeth, "I don't want to talk about this right now. I have some things to take care of. So, please. Leave it be."

Kenny in the meantime had emerged from behind the truck after struggling with getting the bike, which probably weighed more than he did, into the back. He adjusted an old looking knapsack, around his shoulders, checking the inside contents quickly for anything amiss. He moved up close and darted an angry look at Nick. "The man said back off, Buddy. Best you do as he says."

"Kenny! Leave it alone. Go get in the truck."

Kenny hesitated, puffing his scrawny chest out and giving Nick another glare.

"Kenny. Get in the fucking truck. Now. And, Nick, I'll talk to you later." With that Warrick heaved himself up into the driver seat, and had the truck moving within seconds of turning over the key.

Nick was left once more, this time abandoned in the parking lot, waving a cloud of exhaust fumes from in front of his face. His emotional leeway for his best friend could only take so much before breaking loose with the need for some honest answers.

* * *

Warrick sat rigidly in the driver seat. He was pushing the truck's speed well over the limit, and his eyes scanned constantly for cops. He just wanted this man out of his truck. His eyes had begun to water and a small tickle was building in his nose and the back of his throat. He cast an eye down at the brown bag in the console, wishing he had some water to take some of his Benadryl with. He coughed and cleared his throat, his rigid posture causing an ache to build in his neck. He raised a hand to rub out the knots he found there.

Damn it. This was all wrong. How did he get stuck in this situation? Old loyalty could be a major pain in the ass. Warrick shook his head. He'd been rude to Nick ever since Kenny showed up, but he just wanted to keep his partner distanced from his current problem. And Kenny was definably a problem, a big one. He didn't want to drag Nick into it, and being a lousy, abrupt asshole was the only way to keep his buddy far away from everything as possible.

Kenny hadn't stopped yammering since they had left the parking lot. He knew Kenny was in a bad way, and the guy was harmless. They had history, and that meant Warrick cut him a good deal of slack. But his patience was just about through, and he could only listen to so much more before he lost it.

Just in time, they arrived at his townhouse. He pulled into his narrow driveway and as he pocketed the keys he glanced up at the front porch. _Damn light bulb burned out again._

He thought Tina was supposed to have the night off. The townhouse was dark, not even a table lamp or TV glowed from within. _Huh. Tina must be out._

He gestured for Kenny to follow him up his short walk; his stride pulling up short as he noticed the front door was partially ajar. The hair rose on the back of his neck and something made him pull his piece from his belt. He eased the front door open, and noticed immediately that their formerly neat abode had been ransacked. He pushed the door open further, fear for his wife making him forget the fear and he charged forward into the living room, punching the switch on the nearest lamp.

"Tina? Tina?"

His words echoed, the house _feeling_ empty of life. He approached the stairs leading to the second floor, his gun still held front and center when he was startled by the sound of his phone ringing.

He raced over and picked it up, the receiver held to his ear as his eyes continued to scan around him.

"Hello?"

"Good evening, Mr. Brown. I believe you have something I want. And I believe that _I_ have something _you_ want."

Warrick's blood solidified in his veins as he heard Tina's voice in the caller's background screaming out his name


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Warrick's blood boiled at the sound of his wife's screams of panic echoing in the background. His grip on the phone tightened until the receiver dug into his palm.

"Tina!" he shouted into the receiver. Warrick's eyes scanned the room for signs of a struggle; his feet backed him into the living room of his townhouse as the criminalist side of his mind kicked in.

"Tina, honey?" Warrick tried to control his frantic voice, his anger held at bay just in case she heard him.

There was a rustling sound and then silence.

"Now listen up, CSI Brown. I'm a man of few words."

Warrick bite his lip so hard that he tasted blood on his tongue. He froze in mid pace, his training kicking in. Listen for sounds, for clues. The caller on the other end had a heavy Asian accent. He swallowed and took a deep breath. Warrick could hear Kenny's scratchy whine had reached a scared shitless kind of pitch as he bounced up and down, jittering with nervous energy a few feet away. Warrick glared at him with a look that caused his friend to shrink back into the hallway.

Warrick took a few steps away, his line of sight remaining on his friend. "You've got my attention. Who am I talking to? What the hell do you want?" He kept his voice steady, but his harshness barely contained the venom in his tone.

"You know my reputation, Mr. Brown. I have no need to identify myself."

Warrick's nostrils flared. "You're The Voice," he nearly spat in the phone.

"Yes, I am. If you do exactly-"

Warrick could feel his body tremble with anger as he slammed his fist into the living room wall. "Cut the bullshit, Man! I'm not paying any games with you," he seethed into the phone.

"Rudeness is the weak man's imitation of strength, Mr. Brown. Don't interrupt me again." The Voice's tone was like a splash of ice water; cold and sinister.

Warrick closed his eyes, trying to keep himself calm for the sake of his wife. "Fine."

"You are in the company of a man that I seek. My enemy. You will bring him to me."

Warrick's gaze drifted over to Kenny who cowered in the shadows. He caught Warrick's fierce eyes and slouched down to the floor, trembling. The boyhood friend began mumbling and sobbed to himself. He knew exactly whom Warrick was talking to. The CSI felt a sense of righteousness fill his being. He loathed cowards who picked on weaklings.

"Bring him? I'm not a deliveryman. You just kidnapped a cop's wife. You have any clue what kind of shit you're in? Let her go, and maybe you can still hide behind cell phones and rule your sports empire in the shadows." Warrick didn't know where his tone was coming from, but this asshole had his new bride. He wasn't going to be threatened or intimidated by some cloak and dagger obsessed mob boss.

Warrick was met by silence and after several seconds he began to worry that the person at the other end had hung up. He heard steady breathing then the voice returned with an even calmer cadence.

"You and your wife are nothing but little pawns in a grown up game. I control everything, Mr. Brown. I know exactly what I am doing and every minuscule detail about your sorry little life. I don't believe that you truly understand whose chain you think you're trying to jerk."

Warrick licked his dry lips, trying to suppress a cough. He wasn't about to show any sign of weakness.

The caller continued. "I control everything. I see and hear everything. My power knows no bounds; no detail is too small, no obstacle too easy for me to control. I broker in power."

Warrick began working his jaw back and forth; Kenny was working himself in a panic again. He heard the kid fumble with his inhaler.

"Have you been having money problems, Mr. Brown?"

Warrick's heart thumped against his sternum.

"What about that nice suburban townhouse? I know you're itching to comb through it with all of your tools of the trade. You will not process that scene. Tell your instincts to back down."

Warrick looked around the room, the gears in his head turning.

"In fact, I'll just help with your self control. It's hard to work in the dark, isn't it?"

Warrick's brow furrowed, but then the lamp in his living room went out and the sound of his air-conditioning grew silent. The clock on one of the end tables was now dark. His pulse raced at the implication.

"I hope that got your attention. Don't look into your wife's abduction. Don't involve anyone else. There are severe consequences for any indiscretion."

Warrick eyes went wide; the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He was dealing with one of the most feared men in Vegas. He had to get his attitude under wraps.

"What do you want?"

"Good. I want Kenny Longman and the files. He'll know what I'm talking about. I'll contact you with more instructions."

Warrick's mind was racing. Keep him talking; try to gain any advantage.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Warrick didn't know understand why a man like The Voice had not found Kenny any sooner. The little rat wasn't that good at dodging people, was he?

"If the enemy leaves a door open, you must rush in. Forestall your opponent by seizing what he holds dear," was his reply.

Warrick was about to ask more questions, but the phone clicked, ending any attempt at further conversation. He stared at his cell phone, as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. He was now considered an enemy of The Voice? For all of his years, he could never imagine a fate worse than this. He rubbed at his goatee and dragged his now weary body over to his friend.

He grabbed Kenny by his shirt collar and not so gently pushed him up against the wall.

"What did you to do The Voice, Man?" he demanded, his voice breaking with tension.

Kenny tried to wiggle out of the bigger man's grasp.

"Answer me, Kenny! What the fuck did you get yourself into? The man has my wife. My wife, Man! What did you drag me into?" Warrick growled, the cords along his neck bulging in intensity.

Kenny flailed about, clutching onto his medication, trying to look anywhere but at the seething man in front of him. He took two shaky breaths. His lower lip trembled as he spoke.

"I- I…hacked into his syndicate of websites for all of his sports betting. I- I…um… distributed denial of service threats during peak times."

Warrick cocked his head, trying to digest all the information. "The websites that you can make online bets for, like all the games? College football, baseball, and stuff?"

Kenny took several more shaky breaths, a small sense of calm taking over a little. The pride in what he had achieved seemed to keep his voice steady. "Yeah. His web networks take in millions from people all over the world. Spreads his empire to all new levels. It's like having bookies everywhere."

Warrick stood up to his full height and backed off so he wasn't looming over the smaller man so much. "Keep going," he said tersely.

"Well...uh…I sent out the e-mails saying if he didn't give me money to protect his website from an outside attack, then I'd hit it with a worm or a denial of service."

Warrick radiated enraged bafflement. "You …you threatened to shut down The Voice! You nuts, man?"

Kenny gathered himself up a bit. He puffed out his chest and squared his shoulders. His voice lost some of its polish but gained an air of indignant bravado. "Yeah, Man. What, you think I couldn't? Mr. Scientist Brown can work for the cops, but old Kenny wouldn't amount to anything? Well, I did! And I did it on college game day! Cost his ass millions."

Warrick's eyes narrowed. "You idiot! You messed with a hornet's nest and now you got my me and my wife in deep with you." Warrick fumed, his blood pumping wildly through his veins.

Kenny began to quiver again, his bravado evaporating. "You're not gonna do it, are ya Ricky? Please, don't hand me over to him."

"I _should_ turn your sorry ass over! Kenny, Man! What the hell were you thinking?" Warrick's voice trailed off, his anger dissolving in the face of the enormity of the situation. "What the hell were you thinking?" he repeated, almost to himself.

"Ricky, man, I swear- I thought it'd be easy - make some quick money- hell, the dude has billions- figured he'd just send the money to make me go away - like I'd just be a minor annoyance …never thought he'd go so …so ape shit!"

"Ape shit, Kenny? The man has kidnapped my wife. I think it's gone beyond ape shit. How could you think he'd pay you?" He resumed shaking his head and slumped down on the couch in the dark of his living room. The a/c had only been off for a few minutes but the air was already getting close and warm. He could smell the fear radiating off of Kenny; the pungent tang of sweat and adrenaline.

He gave the smaller man a look. Kenny was jittering up and down on the balls of his feet looking like he was going to take off like a scared rabbit or collapse there at Warrick's feet. He remembered when it was Kenny who used to be the stronger one. When _he_ was the rabbit.

He sighed and ran a hand over his face, the scratch in his throat intensified by the screaming he had done on the phone.

"Don't worry, Kenny. We'll get you taken care of. But right now, I got a job to do. And I can't do it with you here."

"Whatdya mean, Ricky? Where am I gonna go?"

"I'll take you back to our old hangout." He saw Kenny was about to protest again and held a tired hand up. "Kenny, Man, you gotta stop fighting me. You came to me for help, and I'm gonna help. Just relax, Bro. Okay?"

The jittering slowed but didn't stop. Kenny's hand rose to play nervously with his braids again. "Yeah, okay. Okay. But you can't leave me there forever, Man. He'll find it eventually. He'll find _me _eventually…"

"Yeah, well you've been doing a pretty good job of hiding so far, yeah?"

This gained him a small smile, echoes of the former cocky pride showing. "Yeah, I guess I have. But …you can't leave me hanging, Bro."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Kenny. C'mon - lets ride."

* * *

"Hey, Nicky. Looks like it's you and me tonight." 

Catherine gave him a smile and started tossing equipment into her case.

"Oh, yeah? Just like old times, huh? Whatcha got Warrick on?"

"Nothing." Her voice was terse and she continued to busy herself with her prep work.

Nick had sensed that Warrick's new marriage had thrown Catherine for a bit of a loop - Hell, it had taken all of them by surprise. In fact, he was probably the only one who even knew Warrick and Tina had even been seeing each other until Warrick chose to announce his marriage at a crime scene. Nick guessed that what with the shiny new gold ring and all it would have come out sooner or later, but man! A crime scene? He shook his head to himself and watched Catherine continue to pack with a small sad look on his face. A lot of things had changed since his Incident, and this was one of the Big Ones.

He put a hand on her shoulder to try to stop her fussing and waited until she stopped and looked up at him.

"What?" she asked with badly feigned nonchalance.

"Just wondering why it's just you and me. I know Warrick is supposed to be on tonight."

"Yeah, well, he called in sick."

"Sick? Really?"

She made a small hmph and went back to angrily stuffing equipment in her bag. She finished up and slung the strap over her shoulder. "Yes, sick. Why- didn't he seem sick to you before?" she asked with a sarcastic smile on her face.

"Well, yeah. Actually, he did pick up some cold medicine at the pharmacy yesterday."

"Well, I'm sure he's fine. He's got a nurse at home you know," she tossed off breezily.

His eyes widened at her obvious display of jealousy. Knew better than to poke at sore wounds. "Yeah. Yeah, he does. Still, calling in sick for a cold… so, where we off to?"

"We have an A & B over at the Peek-a-boo Palace. Someone got rough with one of the girls there and we gotta run the drunken asshole. Should be a nice treat for you, Nicky," she said, a genuine smile now on her face.

His smile widened at the prospect of a few hours spent in the company of scantily clad dancers. "Well, why didn't you say so?" he said, taking her arm in a gentlemanly manner and leading her towards the door. "Boy, Rick is gonna be ticked he missed out on this for a drippy nose!" The teasing did the trick and Catherine laughed as they walked out the door towards the parking lot.

* * *

They passed a few almost pleasant hours at the Palace. The girl wasn't that badly hurt and the club really wanted charges pressed so they could keep the guy from ever coming back. 

They walked out into the parking lot together and as they began to load up their trucks they exchanged a few jokes about the club, Catherine teasing Nick about his eyes following a certain redhead in particular.

"She looked familiar, that's all."

"Riiight, Nicky. Maybe you went to school with her? She was the girl whose pigtails you pulled in first grade, right?"

He chuckled and a light blush covered his cheeks. He was suddenly grateful for the harsh neon lighting flashing red and purple across the lot as the huge sign outside the club flashed Peek…a…boo!

"Damn it, Cath! Keep your investigator eyes on the crime scene would ya?" He shook his head, still laughing ruefully. "I'm telling ya- she just looked familiar is all."

"Whatever, Nick. Whatever," she drawled. "So, dinner?"

"Nah. Think I'm gonna take dinner to check on Rick."

"Check on Warrick? For a cold?"

"Yeah, well, I know it's probably either a cold or some extra squeeze time with the new missus…" He squinted an eye shut at the look she shot him "…but we kinda had words earlier. He's been kinda off lately, Cath. Have you noticed anything?"

"No, can't say as I have, Nick," she said with a tense smile.

"Yeah, well, can I get a rain check on dinner?"

"Sure. Tell Warrick I hope he feels better soon."

"Thanks, Cath. I'll tell him."

* * *

He pulled up out front of the Brown residence and sat with his truck idling. The house was dark as a tomb, but Warrick's truck was sitting parked in the drive. 

He considered that his friend might be sleeping and had reached to the gear to shift the truck back into drive when his eye caught a small circle of light moving within the darkened house. It looked like a flashlight …

He took a quick survey of the neighborhood, thinking maybe there was a power outage but all the houses on the street were brightly lit, the glow from lamps and TVs showing in most of them.

He turned the engine off and shut the truck door behind him gently, not really knowing why but not wanting to make any loud noise. The neighborhood was quiet. Not even a dog barked.

He walked up to the front door and knocked gently. When there was no answer he put his hand to his hip and released the catch on his holster. With his hand on the butt of his gun he eased the front door open.

He was gonna be really embarrassed if Warrick was sleeping on the couch or otherwise engaged with the missus but he figured he had earned the right to be a bit paranoid.

"Warrick?" he called out softly. His eyes took in the living room, the books that had been knocked over, a lamp on the floor, and Warrick's prized baseball trophy knocked from the mantle and laying on the hearth. He loosened the gun fully from its place on his hip and thumbed the safety off.

The flashlight glow he had seen seemed to be coming from the second floor so he hugged his back against the railing and began to sidestep quietly up the stairs, then stopped mid way, his gun muzzle front and center. His breathing was harsh in his ears and he held it for a moment, listening intently for any movement or sound. He heard a rustling from upstairs and began to ascend again.

He briefly considered calling 911, but his fear of embarrassment if this turned out to be nothing more than a newlywed fracas was too great.

He reached the landing and held his back against the wall. Two bedrooms and a bathroom if he remembered the layout correctly. He headed for the master bedroom, gun still held steadily out, finger resting on the trigger.

The noise was definitely coming from the bedroom. He approached the half-closed door and pushed it open harshly, throwing his gun out and glancing wide-eyed at the room. A figure was crouched on hands and knees by the bedside table, a flashlight in one hand, the other using a small tool of some kind.

"Las Vegas Police! Freeze!"

The figure dropped the flashlight, its beam briefly illuminating the face of his partner as it fell.

"Jesus, Nick! What the fuck are you doing here?" Warrick asked in what could only be described as a whispered yell.

"Christ, Rick!" he exclaimed, lowering his gun with a slightly shaking hand. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Get outa here, Nick. Now!"

"What the hell are you talking about? What is going on here, Warrick?"

"I mean it, Nick. Leave before it's too late."

He holstered the gun and wiped away the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on? Is this about that friend of yours? Kenny? Is it?"

Warrick shook his head angrily and picked the flashlight back up.

He got up from his crouch and moved in close to Nick

"I'm telling you, Man. Leave. I got this."

"You got what, Rick? Jesus, is that print powder in your hand?"

Warrick sighed explosively and stared at the brush in his hand. He'd been trying to lift prints from the bedside table in the dark and the task was going excruciatingly slowly, hindered by the darkness and the necessity of holding the light with the other hand.

"Please, Nick." His voice was almost plaintive and Nick was shocked at the fear he saw in his friend's eyes, glowing in the ambient room light.

He lowered his voice to match Warrick's. "Please, _what_, Bro? Please, leave? Picture that."

He gave a small smile, throwing back one of his partner's favorite expressions.

Warrick appeared to dissolve in front of him, raising a shaky hand to rub at the sweat that had gathered on his own head. He gave a small tight smile back. "Yeah. Picture that."

"C'mon, Bro. Spill it. Please tell me what the hell is going on?"

Warrick opened his mouth, apparently to start explaining when a loud noise was heard from outside the house. Instead, the words that came out of his mouth were, "What the fu..? What now?" He shook his head angrily and dashed the brush and flashlight onto the floor, elbowing past Nick and heading for the stairs. He took the stairs two at a time and landed lightly on the ground floor, rushing to the front door and ripping it open.

A large dark tow truck was hooking up to his SUV in his driveway. No markings on the tow truck. No "Tom's Tow Service". No "AAA". Just a big black truck with two men dressed in plain black coveralls, one working on the winch, the other sitting in the passenger seat talking on a cell phone. The man with the phone stared balefully at Warrick, his lips continuing to move as he discussed something on the phone. He shut it up with a slap and gave Warrick a small wave and a creepy smile.

Warrick stood on his front porch, his jaw hanging open, shock stealing his voice. Nick had come down to join him and stared equally incredulously as the winch man finished up with his part of the job and opened the driver side door.

"What the…" was all Nick managed before Warrick finally found his footing and dashed out into his front yard.

"What are you assholes doing?"

"Taking your truck, Mr. Brown," the man with the phone said from his seat.

"What? You can't take my truck!"

"Bank says I can, Mr. Brown. Might wanna give them a call in the morning."

"The bank? I'm not behind- - who do you work for?"

"Have a nice night, Mr. Brown," the man said, the icy grin never leaving his face. He gave a small wave as the driver revved up the truck and began to pull out of the driveway.

Warrick ran over and grabbed the passenger side door handle but the truck had built up too much speed and the handle was ripped painfully from his hand as it rumbled on down his street.

He stood at the end of his driveway rubbing mindlessly at his sore hand. He felt Nick's presence at his side. A hand on his shoulder. "I think we need to talk, Buddy. C'mon inside." He allowed Nick to lead him back into the house, still too stunned to fully process.

Nick picked up a stray chair cushion from the floor and tucked it back in place. Pulled the chair over to face the couch and gestured for Warrick to take a seat.

Warrick fell back limply against the cushions, his hands lying loosely in his lap. He dropped his face into his hands and rubbed frantically at his face. Let out another explosive sigh that turned into a frustrated yell as he tossed his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Where's Tina, Warrick? I should call her if she's at the hospital. She should come home."

Warrick stared at him for a moment. "I don't know where Tina is, Nick. He has her."

"Wha-? Who? Who has Tina?"

"The Voice."

"The Voi--who in hell is The Voice, Rick? You're not making sense. This is crazy. I'm calling Brass." He reached a hand to his cell phone when Warrick reached out and grabbed his hand.

"No, Nick. You can't call Brass. You can't call anyone. Damn it, you can't even be here. He'll know …"

"Rick-"

The ring of Warrick's cell phone interrupted him.

Warrick closed his eyes and picked up the phone slowly, reluctantly.

"Yeah?" he asked tiredly.

"You disappoint me, Mr. Brown. I thought my instructions quite clear. No using your clever little forensics tricks, and no help."

"I didn't- "

"Tut, tut, Mr. Brown. Please stop, as your lies only serve to infuriate me more. I see you need another demonstration of my sincerity…"

The phone went dead. Moments later there was the sound of car doors closing outside and several black clad forms began to stream in through his front door.

tbc...

* * *

A/N: 

Let the games begin!


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

"What the fu--?"

For the umpteenth time the words escaped Warrick's mouth. He had a split second to take in the sight of the men - five of them? Six? The men appeared to be mostly of Asian descent. Though each carried what appeared to be an automatic at their hip, the guns remained holstered, undoubtedly in deference to the residential setting. Regardless, their bulk and number left little doubt as to who would win were they to tangle.

He grabbed Nick's arm hard, pulling him up from off his chair and dragging him to the back of the room. His hand snatched up the fallen baseball trophy and his famous pitching arm aided him as he threw the metal and marble object at the closest man. The trophy hit the man square in the jaw, causing him to stumble and fall as he grabbed at his face. His presence on the floor temporarily blocked the approach of two of the others, the furniture in the small living room creating a labyrinth the other thugs were thankfully lost in, the darkness a surprising help. He saw Nick's hand reach for his weapon but he shook his head in warning and continued pulling him until they hit the stairs. The two men took great striding leaps up the narrow wooden stairway and entered the master bedroom at the end of the hall.

Warrick shut the door behind him and twisted the lock shut. The door was nicely built, solid oak, but a few good hits and it would go down, no doubt about it. He gestured with his head at a sliding door at the back of the room and Nick dashed over to it, flipping the lock open and throwing the door to the side.

The sound of pounding feet on the wooden stairs signaled the approach of their guests to the second floor.

The two men stood on a small balcony covered in potted plants and containing two heavy metal chairs with thick outdoor padding. Warrick slid the door shut behind him and pulled the furniture in front of the door, knowing it would only give them an extra second. Nick had already thrown a leg over the wrought iron railing and was swinging his body over. He dangled a moment, then dropped heavily, a small noise escaping him as his already sore ankle struck the lawn. He looked up to see Warrick's form emerging on this side of the railing, the taller man hanging, then dropping with an equally ungraceful thud.

Nick grabbed Warrick's hand and pulled him up off the ground, Rick's feet barely under him before Nick was pulling him under the porch and against the back side of the house.

The sounds of grunts and flesh hitting solid metal floated down from above.

He threw a quick glance upstairs to see three men crowded on the balcony, staring down, one of the men already swinging a leg over to continue the pursuit.

Nick was leaning against the back of the house panting heavily. His gun was now out in his hand and he had his car keys out in the other. The two men looked at each other, no words exchanged, and simultaneously kicked off from the house and ran around the side to the front lawn.

One of their would be attackers saw them and began to emerge from the front of the house but Nick pointed his gun at him and the man slowed, throwing up his hands in surrender, a tight icy smile on his face. The confident smile of knowing he had the greater power behind him; that this was acknowledged as only temporary. They made it unscathed out to the curb and pulled up outside Nick's Tahoe. Two other vehicles were pulled up behind his, a sedan and an SUV.

Nick jerked his keys out, pressed the button that disarmed his security system and automatically unlocked the doors. Warrick barreled past him in his attempt to reach the passenger side as Nick yanked open his door and flung his body inside. He risked a quick look backwards as the group of thugs from the backyard came out front.

Nick threw the truck in reverse, his tires squealing as the truck spun sharply backwards. He shifted into drive and thumped his foot on the accelerator speeding away from the curb, and shifting the vehicle harshly to avoid other parked cars.

Their pursuers had abandoned the chase in the last seconds, and clambered into their respective cars and raced after them. Nick alternated desperate glances at the rearview mirror while he tried to stay focused on the road ahead of him.

"We should call for back up, Man," he breathed heavily.

Warrick turned halfway in his seat, keeping an eye on two vehicles fast on their trail. He gripped the seat handle and propped his other hand on the dash. "We can't. He monitors all cell phone activity," he replied, grunting as the car swerved in a crazed fashion.

Nick growled his frustration. "I'm not Jeff Gordon, Dude. Driving at these speeds around here is fucking nuts." He looked over at his speedometer where the needle was passing 80 miles per hour.

"We got an Audi and a Grand Cherokee right on our ass." Warrick cautioned. He glanced over to see Nick checking his mirror. "I'll let you know where they're at. You keep your eyes on the road."

Nick barreled down a semi-crowded highway. It was late at night and traffic wasn't nearly as bad as it could be, but other cars were on the road and Nick didn't like the idea of playing Dodge 'Em with innocent people. He passed by other cars, struggling to maintain control of his truck. He saw a green light at the next intersection and pressed harder on the gas. As he zoomed closer the light switched to yellow and to red almost immediately. Nick cursed and stomped on the gas pedal even more as he willed the car through the intersection before he caused a wreck.

"What the Hell? You see how fast that light changed?" he blurted as he turned a corner and headed east.

Warrick tensed as both vehicles followed right behind them, oblivious to the panic it caused in their wake. Car horns blared as a minivan swerved to miss the Jeep and Audi on their tail.

"Hold on!" Nick warned as the car went down a steep hill. The truck bounced, causing its occupants to do the same in their seats. Nick braced himself with one arm and tried to switch lanes.

Warrick used his right foot to hold his body still, as he kept himself turned around to watch the other vehicles. "Audi's making a run at us. Comin' up your left side, Nick!"

Nick maneuvered the truck into the left lane to block the attempt.

"Cherokee is switching to our right, Man," Warrick warned as the bad guys tried to come around.

Nick started shifting his truck side to side to keep both cars off balance, while striving valiantly to avoid hitting any other vehicles. He had to lurch hard to the left to avoid a motorcycle in his upcoming lane then moved right back into his current one to try to keep the guys chasing them from trying to get past them.

Nick saw the next light up ahead; it was red, but as they got closer he prayed for a quick change. It switched to green, which caused him to put more weight on the accelerator, but as they got within a few feet it changed back to red.

"Damn it!" he snarled as he ran the light, a Honda almost colliding with their driver side, and the CSI twisted the wheel to avoid another crash.

"Shit. These damn lights are goin' haywire, Man!" he yelled in frustration.

Warrick's eyes narrowed as the implications struck him. He averted his eyes from the people chasing them to gaze out the window, as he searched for something specific. Warrick eyed one of the light posts and spotted the suspect equipment perched on top of the light relay box. As they drew closer to the intersection, the traffic light flipped red at their approach.

"That bastard!" he seethed as Nick speed through the intersection.

Nick was dripping wet from perspiration running down his head, his T-shirt was soaked through. His jaw felt like it was going to break from clenching it so hard. "What? What's going on?"

Warrick braced himself as the Jeep and Audi both took their chances to come up on each side. "The Voice is controlling the traffic lights, using the surveillance cameras at every intersection."

Nick didn't have time to respond as the Cherokee slammed into the passenger side causing the truck to veer into the other lane and oncoming traffic. Nick swerved to the left to pass by a Ford and swung back into his original lane.

"Go to a side road, Man. The Voice is tracking us with cameras."

Nick searched his rearview as the Audi started to speed past him. He saw the SUV follow behind the first car as they planned on hitting the driver side with a one-two punch. Thinking quickly, Nick slammed on the brakes and watched each car rocket by. He turned right and accelerated down a side street, removing them from the watchful eyes of the traffic surveillance cameras.

"Nice!" Warrick hollered as they moved down the small road at lightning speed.

Nick franticly searched the road in front of him for another side alley, anywhere that could hide which direction they took. "Who the hell are those guys, Man?" He risked a glance towards his partner.

Warrick continued to search behind him as well as through the windshield for any hint of trouble. "I-I'm sorry, Man. Damn it!" Warrick slammed his fist onto the dash hard enough to cause him some pain.

Nick held his partner's gaze for a moment, his expression more concerned then pissed. "They took a lot of chances to try to grab us, Bro. What's all this talk about security cameras and watchin' us? Who's got you so freaked, Man?"

Warrick ran his hand over his face as Nick continued to turn onto smaller side streets, driving deeper into non-residential areas, and closer to the warehouse district. Nick kept an eye out for mysterious cars and headed down another road that lead them further way from any neighborhoods. The streets and area were getting more isolated, and the realization made him nervous. It would be harder for the bad guys to locate them, but any chance of locating a patrol car became slimmer.

Warrick pointed his finger towards a small road sign. "If you go down there, it'll take us over to the meat packing plant. We can hide your truck and talk."

Nick veered the car in that direction. He needed to stay focused, and knew his answer would be forthcoming. He steered his truck forward until the Grand Cherokee materialized out of nowhere into view and blocked his path. Nick slammed on the brakes to avoid crashing into the mass of metal.

"Damn it!" Warrick cursed and both men looked in the rear mirror to see the Audi pull up behind them

Nick felt his heart race as the passenger door of the Jeep opened and one of the Asian thugs pulled out a gun and pointed it in the direction of the windshield. Whatever qualms their attackers had had about using their weapons in a residential area were now moot.

"Get down!" Nick shouted as they ducked. The erupting gunfire echoed loudly in the deserted rundown area. Two slugs ripped through the driver side window, while the other bullets hit the grille and ricocheted around the vehicle.

Nick kept his body under the dashboard. Keeping his hand on the gearshift he threw the stick in reverse as his foot pressed on the accelerator. The truck raced backwards as the heavy back end of the truck smashed into the Audi's front end. Metal crunched and the truck slammed the smaller car hard enough to knock it out of the way. Nick maneuvered until he spun his truck around. They stayed hunched down as Nick drove forward at lightning speed, only peeking upwards long enough to catch a glimpse of the rushing asphalt.

Satisfied that he wasn't going to get his head blown off, Nick sat straighter as he drove like mad away from the racing SUV that was in hot pursuit behind them. "These guys are relentless," Nick swore under his breath.

Warrick searched for any sign or area where they could lose the goons, and growled in frustration. Rundown warehouses, abandoned buildings, and a dumping ground for industrial waste surrounded them. As they drove the area grew more wide open, with various metal obstacles littering the entire vicinity. Dumpsters, storage containers, piles of junk were scattered around, making the chase hazardous on every level.

The Cherokee was gaining speed as it moved towards the driver side. Nick cast a sideways look, and felt his cheeks flush with anger. "Screw this! ... Hold on, Warrick!"

Nick jerked on the steering wheel hard and slammed his side of the vehicle along the SUV's passenger side. The truck shuddered, but it caused the Cherokee to lose control for a moment and show their pursers that they could be aggressive as well. Nick saw Warrick stare at him in shock. He glanced at him for a second.

"My truck's heavier, theirs is faster."

Warrick's eyes widened in disbelief and he actually allowed a tiny smile in the midst of all the chaos. "Balls of steel, Bro," he remarked.

Nick didn't have time to laugh as the SUV was gaining on them again. Nick timed the car's approach as they barreled down the industrial back lots, at speeds way too fast for safety. The Cherokee inched closer; Nick tightened his grip on the wheel but waited for his moment. Just as the other car started to swing over to bang them again, Nick pulled sharply and knocked his vehicle alongside the goon's Jeep. The momentum sent the Cherokee into a truck trailer.

The bad guys' car crumpled as Nick floored the accelerator. The CSIs heard the sounds of a gun going off and dipped their heads again. The sounds of bullets faded as they put more distance between them. The thugs continued firing until one of bullets connected with a driver side tire. The thing blew, causing Nick to lose control of the truck.

Nick wrestled with the steering, the leather-wrapped wheel slipping under his sweat slickened grip. The Tahoe wrestled with him and won, the heavy truck's momentum carrying them in a sickening 90-degree turn, the vehicle's weight left on only one operating tire. The truck tipped on its driver side and skidded along the ground emitting a trail of fireworks-like sparks as metal scraped on asphalt.

The Tahoe came to rest against an industrial building, snugging up against the solid brick wall, just short of smashing into it.

Warrick blinked and raised a hand to his face. Something wet had dripped into his eyes and he pulled his hand away to find fresh blood on it. He put his fingers to his right temple and winced at the pain there, his fingertips providing evidence of the blood's source. The window to his right had a star shaped crack from where his head had hit the window.

His seatbelt had held him snuggly in his seat, but his shoulder throbbed where the fabric had wrenched against it.

Wiping viciously at his eyes to clear them he looked to his left, then down at Nick, still in his driver seat. The driver side door and steering wheel airbags had deployed and his friend was swathed in a cocoon of deployed fabric and airbag powder.

Warrick reached out a hand and shook Nick's shoulder, gratified to see his friend look up groggily and give him a game smile. He echoed with his own relieved smile.

"You okay, Partner?" he asked.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

"You're bleeding, Bud."

"S'okay." He paused for a moment. There was no sound of gunfire at the moment, but that could mean the thugs were out and headed for the truck.

Nick understood the concern and handed Warrick the gun that he'd had on his lap. He nodded as Nick gestured with his head to the passenger side door.

Warrick unbuckled stiffly and grabbed the door handle. Locked. Praying the power locks still worked he thumbed the release and was relieved to hear the click of the lock popping. He opened the door and levered himself partway out the opening. A quick glance around them showed Nick had managed to get them around the corner from where they had last seen the Cherokee. Their last sight of the Cherokee he had was of a crumpled mess as it struck the tractor-trailer. It looked like the collision had put the Cherokee out of commission. But the operators were another story.

"We're clear for now. We gotta get out though. You need a hand, Bro?"

"Yeah," Nick said with a pain filled smile. "Actually, I do. One's not working so good." He raised his left arm slowly to show a hand that had been badly mangled in the wreck. "Think it got pinned between the seat and the door."

"Shit, Man. Alright, gimme your right hand."

Nick paused to pop his seatbelt and release the belt and shoulder strap back. His right hand rose to link with Warrick's.

Warrick braced himself, one foot on the console, the other on the dash and pulled with all his might as Nick groaned and pushed up off the doorframe. The deployed air bags snagged at him and he tried to brush them free with his injured hand, sucking in his breath at the pain, so Warrick released his right hand to give him a chance to extricate himself.

Warrick scrambled up out of the opened door and perched spider like across the opening, his hand shooting back down into the cab and taking hold of Nick's right hand again.

With the leverage of his legs and arms, and his better purchase on the flat surface of the side of the truck he braced and pulled, Nick fumbling for places to put his feet. He finally put one booted foot on the center console and pushed up and out, released from the smashed truck like a cork from a bottle.

The two men took a moment to breath heavily, laying themselves out on the side of the truck. The sounds of shouts from around the corner cut their respite short.

Warrick jumped down and held out a hand that was ignored. Nick sucked in a breath and jumped down to land next to his partner, his jump ending in a wince and him hopping on one leg for a moment. Warrick tossed him a look then grabbed his arm and bodily forced him forward.

Nick tucked his mangled hand under his armpit for protection and the two took off down the alley along the building.

The two men kept to the alleys, seeking refuge in the dark shadows cast by the security lights that shone from some of the buildings. They ran without speaking, their pounding footsteps and ragged breathing the only sound.

After fifteen minutes both men were about to fall on their faces with exhaustion. Adrenaline was only able to carry them so far and they collapsed in the frame of a building's delivery entrance. Their stood with their backs against the doors, their chests heaving as they each gasped for breath. Each time they exhaled silvery plumes of vapor coalesced around them.

Warrick's head wound hadn't stopped bleeding and he wiped angrily at the blood that once again clouded his vision.

Nick sat cradling his hand, his head bent back to open his air passages and breathe in the cool night air.

"You…think…we …lost 'em?" Nick panted out between deep intakes of oxygen.

"Yeah…yeah ..I think we did." Warrick tossed his own head back and gulped air, waiting for the hammering to slow in his chest. He coughed as the cold air hit his raspy throat.

"Shit, Man. What the hell did you get into, Rick? What the fuck is going on?" Nick turned his head, continuing to breathe heavily, and waited for a response.

Warrick closed his eyes and opened his mouth as if to answer when the cell phone in his pocket rang. He opened his eyes and stared at Nick, pulling the phone out with obvious reluctance.

"Brown" he answered, his heart sinking with the knowledge of who would be at the other end.

"Mr. Brown. You surprise me. I thought you loved your wife."

"Fuck you, Man. Leave her alone!"

"Ahhh, the coarseness of the English language has always entertained me. We have no comparable phrase to your particularly favorite epithet."

"Yeah, well I got some more 'epithets' for you, asshole! Why are you doing this?"

"You know very well why, Mr. Brown. And you also know what you need to do to stop all of this. However, you seem quite unwilling to cooperate…in fact, against my express direction you now have someone aiding you. Nicholas Stokes. A fellow CSI, I see…"

Warrick dashed a quick look at Nick, knowing his partner couldn't hear The Voice's end of the conversation.

"Mr. Stokes has had quite the run of bad luck, I see," The Voice continued. "Interesting… I look forward to finding out more about your unfortunate friend. The power of estimating the adversary, of controlling the forces of victory, and of shrewdly calculating difficulties, dangers and distances, constitutes the test of a great general. He who knows these things, and in fighting puts his knowledge into practice, will win his battles. For the good of _all_ of those you care for, Mr. Brown, I strongly suggest that you reconsider my demand."

tbc...

* * *

A/N at my bio. 


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Warrick's exhaustion and frustration got the best of him. Instead of talking to his tormentor he screamed into the receiver, his short temper over-shadowing any objectivity.

"You don't touch a hair on her head! Why don't you be more like a man? Stop sending goon squads and hiding behind your little phone calls. You let Tina go, or so help me---"

The sounds of laughter cut off the rest of his tirade. Warrick gnawed at his lip; he sensed Nick stepping closer out of concern. A quick look with his eyes told his partner to let him deal with the call.

"Mr. Brown, you forget that I hold all the cards in this game. I know you enjoy the thrill of gambling. I didn't expect that little addiction to be so deep-rooted that it could affect such a simple exchange."

Warrick's mouth hung open as he squeezed his eyes shut. The Voice was a man of many secrets. He made it his job to learn all about the ones belonging to any possible opponent. He had been read like an open book.

"Friendship is a funny thing, wouldn't you say, Mr. Brown? It would seem that Kenny Longman dragged you unwillingly into my affairs and now you've dragged Mr. Stokes into yours. Now, my ill-tempered scientist, I will get what I want and I will find all of you. A skillful fighter puts himself into a position which makes defeat impossible, and does not miss the moment for defeating the enemy."

The line went dead and Warrick was left with nothing. He looked over at Nick who had barely been able to keep from ripping the cell phone out of his hands. Warrick winced inwardly. He'd been so intent at keeping this private matter under his vest that he had put his partner's life in danger. He cursed heavily, rubbing at his pulled shoulder absently. With his anger under control Warrick looked over at his best friend and decided to come clean with him. He owed him at least that for all of his behavior the past two nights.

"Kenny and I go way back, Bro. All the way to the old neighborhood. I mean we were best friends growing up. He got…he crossed the line with a real bad man."

Nick held back a few choice comments. He simply nodded for his partner to continue.

Warrick wiped at the cut on his forehead; the bleeding was slowing down and now a dull throb reverberated through his skull. "You remember that case you and Catherine had a few years ago with the death of that runner at the casino? The guy who took bets all over town from bookies?"

Nick bowed his head thinking, but his face lit up when he recalled the case. "Yeah, I think so. You kind of gave us some insight into sports betting."

Warrick nodded. "Yeah. There's this guy, The Voice. He runs all of Vegas's underground sports rackets. If you placed a bet on any game he had something to with it. No one knows what he looks like. He's sort of this all-knowing kind of specter. Like the Wizard of Oz."

Warrick started to pace, but glanced up to maintain eye contact. "He's hooked up with the Asian mob; no one messes with him. He prides himself on information gathering. This guy has more dirty laundry and files on the who's who than even the biggest power brokers in this city. The Voice can hack into any computer, any electronics system, and can turn your world upside down and find your darkest secrets."

Nick leaned against the brick wall as he kept his hand secured under his armpit and glanced down the alley for any sign of trouble. He chewed on his lip. "Your check card trouble, right?"

Warrick sighed. "Yeah. I helped Kenny hide him from this bad dude. Then I get home tonight and find Tina missing. Before I know what hit me, the Voice calls me. He wants me to hand Kenny over on a silver platter and he'll let Tina go." Warrick snorted under his breath, knowing full well that all three of them would end up dead.

Nick rose to his feet immediately and stalked over to his friend. "He kidnapped, Tina? Jesus, Warrick. Why didn't you call Brass? He could be helping investigate."

Warrick's face twitched, "He'd kill her, Man. He turned off my power, got my car towed. He sent that squad after us, when you came over. He didn't want me involving anyone and now I've you pulled you into my mess."

Nick shook his head as some of the things he heard started to sink in. This was no ordinary two-bit hood they were dealing with. The Asian Mob, that was heavy stakes. Still trusting that calling in to the Lab or to LVPD was the best thing, Nick pulled up his cell despite Warrick's weary expression towards the action. Nick's brow furrowed in confusion, his cell phone was dead. He checked the battery to see it was fully charged.

Nick walked back and forth, avoiding pieces of trash in his wake. His partner was silent, but they heard a noise off in the distance and both men froze.

Nick looked over, his breathing quickening as he strained to hear anything ominous. "We should get moving."

Warrick stood next to him, his eyes scanning the dark shadows of the alley. Not only were they being hunted down my mob enforcement but being out in the open like this wasn't the brightest idea in the world around this end of town.

"We got to go where I stashed, Kenny. It's safe and we can think." Warrick began taking in his surroundings, as he oriented exactly where they ended up after the chase. He looked over at his partner. "We can get that hand of yours looked at," he said as he reached out to inspect it.

Nick kept it cradled against his side, brushing away from Warrick's good intentions. "Nothin' we can do about it now. So, where to?"

Warrick frowned, but knew his partner's words were true. His shoulder was killing him and his head ached. He tried to look on the bright side; he wasn't dizzy or nauseous so it probably wasn't a concussion. It didn't make his body feel any better. Maybe there was running hot water back at the old hideaway.

"We'll need to go about three miles. Maybe catch a bus around Clermont Street. No cameras around that area."

Nick motioned towards the gun in his hand. "You wanna keep the piece out?"

Warrick looked down at Nick's weapon. "Nah. We don't wanna draw too much attention." He took the Glock and slid it into his jeans waistband and covered it with his shirt. "Let's hoof it."

The two men kept towards the darkness, Warrick taking point while Nick kept an eye on their backs. They stayed to the narrow alleyways leading west back towards the older side of town, the one hit hardest by the faltering economy. For the first mile they kept a very brisk pace, just in case the goon squad wasn't far behind. They were creeping towards a more populated area. A few homeless men were scavenging trashcans and there was an undertone of hushed voices in the air.

They were in the section of town that poverty hit hard; rundown homes, bars on windows, a few scattered gang members doing deals in the far reaches of the alley. Warrick was tense; even the police didn't like this area. Only a little further away was the first bus station providing transportation to those forced to live in the inner city: single moms, minimum wage earners and people who just tried to get by the best they could.

There were a few street lamps now, the quiet road leading behind the Tinebrook neighborhood, a liquor store at the corner right next to a rundown little grocery stand. Warrick had driven through here in the daylight; if you were in your right mind you avoided it like the plague under the cover of dark. He could tell they were being watched from windows and parked cars.  
They were just trying to pass through and hoped as long as they kept their eyes and nose to the ground and stayed out of everyone's business, people would continue to leave them alone.

Warrick looked over his shoulder. Nick was a few feet behind him and he kept slowing his pace for his partner to keep up. The bus stop was only a half-mile later, and he heard Nick grunt behind him. There was no time to stop; they were moving targets and they each had to suck up the pain until they reached safety.

Warrick's headache was competing with the pressure in his sinuses; he was a miserable mess. He noted Nick's pinched expression and the way he protected his hand. Warrick knew it must be throbbing, but he couldn't do anything about it while they were sitting ducks.

Both men hurried their pace when they reached the isolated bus stop. Four teenagers with over-sized jackets, smoking cigarettes gave them a weary look. Warrick and Nick were not a threatening looking pair, but they gave off the vibe that they weren't to be messed with. After twenty long minutes and a lot of nervous glances at approaching vehicles, the loud public bus arrived. Nick paid for both their fares and they headed for the old part of town that Warrick grew up in.

Nearly an hour later both men were nearing a chain-linked fence that surrounded another dilapidated set of buildings. The criminalists had gotten off at Boulevard and Church. They ankle expressed it through two more neighborhoods before passing an old high school and the back lots of more boarded up stores. Warrick had kept a vigilant eye out for any suspicious activity and they crept up to the side of what looked like one of those corner strip shopping center that had seen better days. There couldn't have been more than four small type shops, including an abandoned gas station.

Warrick wiped at the sweat at his brow and tested the sturdiness of the fence. He looked over at Nick. "It's a good layer of defense. We got to hop this thing. From the inside of that building you can see everything from that window," he said pointing at a dingy pane with boards plastered over it.

Nick grabbed Warrick's shoulder; his chilly breath could be seen in the night air. "You worried that The Voice might have this place scouted out, being so close to where you once lived?"

Warrick thought for a beat, but he seemed fairly confident. "Nah. This was my old neighborhood, but my house is closer to the west side of the tracks. I had a long ride to class, and this place is past the school me and Kenny used to go on the opposite way to walk home."

Nick looked around, trying to see through the hours of darkness. He swallowed but nodded.

Warrick tested his shoulder, pain ripping through what had to be badly torn or bruised muscle. It'd hold up though. He glanced at his buddy, knowing Nick had a larger issue to contend with. "I'll swing up the top and give you a hand over."

Nick actually smirked. Warrick laughed at his bad pun, "Man, you're really trippin' now."

Warrick patted Nick on the back and scaled the fence. He pulled one leg over and balanced over the top. He signaled for his partner to follow suit. Nick backed up, his left hand cradled to his chest and he darted up the fence, the toes of his boots catching in the metal weave. Warrick grabbed an elbow to steady him until Nick got both legs over, holding on with his good right hand for balance. Then he scaled all the way over and jumped down. Warrick watched him land ungracefully, his right ankle almost rolling under his weight as he limped into a standing position.

Warrick finished climbing over and joined him on the ground. He gave his partner a strange expression. "Your ankle all right?"

Nick was obviously walking off any discomfort. "Just a twinge from last night." Not wanting to waste time he nodded towards the nailed up old store. "You lead the way."

Warrick would ask his partner about things later. He went over to the door and knocked on it. "It's me, Man. Let us in."

Warrick wrapped his arms around his chest trying to keep warm. He gave Nick an irritated expression. "He can see us from in there." Warrick pounded away again until he heard things being shoved away. After several agonizing minutes and lot of odd noise, the door creaked open cautiously. Warrick swung the door all the way open and hustled in with Nick close behind him.

Kenny quickly slammed the door close in the dimly lit room and began shoving crates to block the entrance. His skinny little frame had a ton of difficulty trying to move boxes that had to weigh more than the scrawny man. Annoyed, both criminalists began to shove three more crates over despite their own aches and pains.

After getting the entrance secured, Warrick sat down heavily in a fold-up chair, rubbing his tired face with his hand. Kenny quickly scrambled towards him, wildly pointing behind him.

"Why'd you bring him here? What's goin' on, Man? He can't _be_ here." Kenny's voice rose an octave higher, the elevated pitch grating on Warrick's ears.

Nick for his part gave the high-strung geeky guy a perplexed stare and brushed past him as he plopped down on the floor next to his partner. The skittish man adjusted his glasses as he practically bounced around both men.

"You weren't supposed to tell anyone, Warrick. Man, oh, man," he whined.

Nick squinted his face in annoyance and glanced back up at Warrick who tried to bury his head further into his hand. The Texan sighed. "Why don't you take another one of your cold tablets, Man? You look terrible."

Warrick wiped at his face, shaking his head. He chuckled under his breath and looked over at his partner, completely exhausted; his red-rimmed eyes and haggard appearance a testament to the mounting stress. "I will in a moment."

Nick scanned the darkened room, noting the only source of light was a bunch of candles, a few flashlights and the moonlight peeking through the cracks of another window over head. He whistled. "Great hide out, Man. Safety conditions are top notch."

"I was out of designer getaways last I checked," Warrick mumbled.

Kenny began to pace, mumbling under his breath. It was apparent that he didn't enjoy not being the center of attention. "Ricky, you broke your promise to me, Man. I can't trust anyone. Can't even count on ya word," he complained.

Nick narrowed his eyes. He got to his feet and grabbed the smaller man by one of his shoulders, his nerves frayed from the cloak and dagger of the past few hours. "Don't you ever say that about Warrick. You have no idea what we just went through to get here, you ungrateful--"

"Nick!" Warrick's voice broke off the tirade.

Kenny wiggled away from the imposing figure and scampered towards the lanky criminalist, seeking shelter behind his taller form. He almost basked in false pretenses and a fake sense of bravado. "Yeah, Man. Don't lay a hand on me. Don't mess with---"

"Kenny, shut the Hell up, before I slap you something fierce."

Nick didn't hide a slight smile at Kenny's shocked expression. He watched Warrick glare at the little oaf as he shrunk back at the anger-laced tone. Nick knew all the signs of a Warrick Brown smack down and he crossed his arms across his chest in amusement as he waited for his partner to let out all of his frustration at the source of their problems.

Kenny slunk off, looking like a dog that someone had kicked. Seeing the fight had gone somewhat out of the smaller man, Nick collapsed back to the ground next to his partner, his back against a wall for support.

"Christ, Man," he muttered. "How do you put up with him?"

Warrick answered him in a similarly lowered voice. "Nah, Kenny's okay. He's just scared. Dude's been on the run for a while now."

"What did he do to piss this guy off? Besides yammer at him?"

"Yeah, no doubt. No," he sighed, "Kenny got this bright idea to rip The Voice off- took some of the dude's gambling websites hostage and tried to shake him down." He shook his head. "You know Kenny was the brightest guy I knew in school. Made me look like the town idiot. But not so street smart, ya know?"

"So your friend's greed and stupidity got Tina taken and us on the run? Warrick, Man. Why not just turn his skinny ass over to the guy? If this guy is the way you say he is- he probably would return Tina to you."

He shook his head harder before Nick had even finished his sentence. "You know, I thought about it. But I really do owe Kenny a chance to get clear. And I think The Voice is so pissed right now, I don't see him turning Tina over. I think it's gonna be up to me to get her back …"

"You mean us."

"No, I mean me. Nick, this is already too much. Those goons the dude sent meant business."

"Yeah, I could tell when I lost my truck, Bro," he said with a small laugh.

"Shit. See? You've already lost a truck, and by the looks of it, your left hand."

Nick pulled his hand in tighter at the remark. Ignored the look of concern from his friend.

"So you're gonna take on the Wizard of Oz all by your lonesome, huh? Kingpin of a global gangster enterprise? Who are you, Shaft?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Shaft. Yeah- picture that. No. But then what do you suggest?"

"How about we call in reinforcements? Brass at least. And Grissom. You know we've got access to all kinds of information if you'd just let people help."

"Letting people help is just gonna make things worse, Bro."

"How can they get worse, Rick?"

Warrick sighed, not wanting to even entertain the many ways it could get oh so much worse.

He was, for once, thankfully distracted by Kenny's return.

The smaller man had gotten over his initial meekness, and re-entered the room with his bluster back in full swing.

"Warrick, Man. Why ain't you ditched this guy yet? Why's he still hanging around?"

"Ditched him? _Hanging around_? Are you-? Kenny, just shut the hell up about things you know nothing about."

"I know the voice told you not to get anyone else involved, yet you got some cop friend of yours tagging along. Get. Rid. Of. Him, Warrick. We can't be pissing the voice off anymore than you have already."

"_I _pissed_--_?" Warrick was apoplectic in his anger. "Kenny, Man. You best muzzle that mouth of yours, little dog, or I'll muzzle it for you. You have _no_ idea what Hell we just went through. Five or six guys just showed up at my house; big Ninja-looking fuckers. Strapped. They chased us all over God's creation. Smashed up the truck. Damn near killed us. It wasn't for my man, Mario Andretti over here, we'd be dead. Drive by shooting, no survivors, film at eleven.

Now I'm tired, I'm hurting, and I'm just about to lose it all over you. Don't make me get up or I'll be putting you down. For good. Just quit jawing at me and go see what we have for first aid."

Kenny bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, a retort just hanging on his lips. He saw two red-rimmed green eyes narrow threateningly at him and decided discretion was the better part of whatever valor he had and hightailed back into the darkness.

Warrick let out an explosive sigh, cut short by his glance over at Nick. His friend had a bemused expression on his face. "What?"

"_Little dog_. I like it. Your boy's got little dog syndrome written in bold face all over him."

"Wha-?"

"You know. The way little dogs always seem to have an attitude. Wanna take on all the biggest dogs in the yard. Like they don't know they're little."

"Yeah, well, Kenny wasn't always the littlest dog. That would have been me."

"You? What are you? Six two?"

"Yeah, well I didn't start sproutin' til like my senior year. I was short, geeky. These contacts were thick Coke-bottom glasses. My Grams couldn't afford much so my clothes were like Salvation Army specials. I was a vision to behold, my friend. Resplendent in all my nerdiness."

Nick laughed out loud. "Yeah, well, at least _you_ grew up. And I don't mean physically. Your buddy's got some issues. And I think they're only gonna make things worse for us," he said in a lowered voice. "So what does this guy have on you anyway?"

"Nothing. It's just… Kenny saved my ass from a beat down. He risked his hideout for me, when he could just thrown me to the wolves. And he didn't hafta do it. Kenny had it rough, Man. I mean, at least I had my Grams and she was a good woman. She did right by me, you know?" Nick nodded.

Warrick raised a hand and wiped at his face, letting in old memories. "Kenny's mom was a junkie. She used to bring guys by the house…some of them would get rough with Kenny. She never knew how to handle him. He was too smart. Too bookish. The only way the kid had to cope was to withdraw deeper in his books. He never...learned to adapt. To fit in. By the time I hit college, I'd figured out how to play the game. How to become a round peg? You get me?"

"Yeah," Nick said quietly.

"Yeah, well Kenny is just as square a peg as ever…"

The aforementioned square peg came back in the room toting a white box with a red cross on the front. "I looked in my backpack, got nuthin' in there. I found this, though. Think this was an old kit the employees used," Kenny said in a milder tone. "Dunno what all is in it…"

Warrick reached up and took it. "Thanks, Bro."

He opened the kit. Old bottle of aspirin. Iodine. Some gauze and some bandage tape. He sighed with frustration. "This all there is? Kenny, can you find something we can use as a brace? Some wood or stiff cardboard?"

Kenny gave him an exasperated look at being sent away again, but went to scrounge down the requested items.

"A'ight, Bro. Lets see the hand…"

Nick flashed him a look, then reluctantly held his left hand out. It was swollen to almost twice its normal size. "Damn, Nick. Why didn't you say how bad it was?"

"What were ya gonna do? Find some plaster in a dark alleyway somewhere? Besides, I think it's just sprained."

"No way. You musta broken a couple bones in your wrist and hand. Can you move your fingers?"

Nick sucked in a breath and slowly wiggled each finger. The pain in doing so was obvious, but the fingers all seemed to work.

Kenny came back with a shoebox and thrust it in Warrick's direction. The CSI glared at him but grabbed it, then began ripping the sides off of the box. When he was done he had two long pieces of stiff cardboard that he then folded in half for extra strength.

He gave Nick a look and a "gimme" gesture with his hand. Nick rolled his eyes but held his hand out to his partner. Warrick took the two slats of cardboard and placed them on either side of the injured wrist and palm. "Kenny, Man. Come over here. Make yourself useful."

Kenny inched over, then at the glare Warrick shot him, came up next to the men and squatted down to their level.

"Okay, hold the cardboard. Don't move it."

Kenny gave a look of supreme distaste at having to help Nick but held the cardboard in place while Warrick began to wrap the white tape around the makeshift brace. Nick twitched a bit but kept silent, letting the two men set and secure his hand. The moment his help wasn't needed any longer Kenny scrambled back up and began pacing back and forth as Warrick finished up.

The job completed, Nick let his hand fall gently back onto his lap. "Thanks. Feels better already. What about you?" he said, gesturing at the cut on Warrick's forehead.

Warrick put a hand up to it and brought his fingers back down. Dry. "Nah, the bleeding's stopped. Nothing can be done about it for now. I think we've done all we can here. Kenny! Why don't you take a piece of floor, Man? You're making me nervous. All that damn pacing."

The smaller man gave him a huffy look but folded his legs up Indian style and sat down on the floor, a finger in his mouth as he began to gnaw at a ragged fingernail.

Nick leaned over to speak to Warrick without being overheard. "You give anymore thought to my suggestion?"

Warrick thought on all the equipment they had back at the lab. All the databases and connections and calls they could make. Weighed it against the fear of their being discovered looking for help. He knew there was no way the three of them could stand against their foe. As much as he hated to admit it, Nick was right. They needed help.

"Yeah. You're right. I'll try Brass first."

He flipped open his cell and dialed the detective's number, waiting through two rings while avoiding the suspicious look that Kenny was shooting at him.

When he heard the sound of the phone being answered he cut through the greeting. "Jim?"

"No, Mr. Brown. It is not your friend at the Police Station." The Voice let out a long dramatic sigh. "I thought we had this covered Mr. Brown. You have no avenues that I have not covered. You have no friends that I have not already placed under my watchful eye. You have no ability to continue to deny me what I want. The general who is skilled in defense hides in the most secret recesses of the earth; he who is skilled in attack flashes forth from the topmost heights of heaven. And I assure you. Mr. Brown. I am skilled."

tbc...

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Warrick turned his head in order to hide the identity of the speaker. He didn't need Kenny to become even more agitated then he already was at the moment. Nick leaned a bit closer so he could hear snippets of the conversation. He gave Warrick a nod of encouragement.

"You're skilled alright, Man. You're real quick with the fortune cookie phrases and sending two-bit hoods to do your dirty work," Warrick insulted.

Nick twisted up his face in concern at the taunting, but Warrick could see a reluctant glee in his brown eyes.

"Mr. Brown, you only serve to irritate me. Trying to rouse me to anger will only cause me to seek the rewards of triumph from you."

Warrick was going to retort when he sensed something. The Voice was just toying with him, keeping him on the phone. Thinking quickly, he clicked the end button.

Nick raised an eyebrow in response to the abrupt action. "What was all that about?"

Warrick caught Kenny staring at the two of them, but the smaller man ducked his face away and began playing with the end of his braids.

He sighed. "I think he was trying to keep me on the phone. He wasn't demanding anything, and I didn't want him to triangulate the call. Find out where we're at."

Nick looked thoughtful, his eyes scanning the hideaway. "This is a good spot." Nick rolled his neck. "You think maybe we should try to get back to the Lab? Think your boy might stick around here till we get back?" he said with a gesture of his head at Kenny.

Warrick let his eyes roam towards the subject of their discussion, who was trying really hard to act like he didn't care at the moment. Warrick sucked in a breath. They were miles away; they'd have to take the bus out in the open. It would take several transfers and hiding away from watchful eyes and cameras. It would be very tricky.

Nick took the silence as a good sign. His partner was thinking things out. It was the first time he was sure that the man had any time to ponder what had transpired. Nick knew that the toll of trying to cover a buddy's back and keep them out of major trouble could wreak havoc with common sense. Adding to it the fact that his wife had been snatched, Nick couldn't imagine the kinds of turbulent emotions eating away at his friend.

Warrick rubbed at his face trying to shake off the lingering effects of his cold and the crash. Warrick's expression was grim; he studied the floor, but let his eyes wander over to his old childhood friend. He didn't regret his actions. He wasn't going to turn Kenny over to some mob boss to be killed no matter what schemes the little punk had pulled.

Warrick kept his head bowed, contemplating. He heard Nick adjusting his legs and re-positioning them on the grimy floor. Warrick felt the knots in his neck spasm from the weight of his guilt. His partner. He had been a jerk towards Nick to keep him away, and just like a good friend, the Texan ignored his flippant behavior and was there to watch his back. The Voice's threats towards both his wife and best friend were a burden he could not carry. He'd let go of his defiant behavior and do what was best.

They would go back for backup, something Warrick cursed himself for not doing in the first place. Before he put the spotlight on a man who had already endured Hell and back. He had let things escalate out of control and it was time to put the brakes on things before anyone was put in any more danger.

Warrick looked over at Nick who had closed his eyes, cradling his hand in his lap. Kenny was staring at him with a look of apprehension and fear etched all over his features. His eyes told the story, begging him for his help and protection. Warrick would do right by the both of them.

Warrick called out to his partner. "Hey, Nick." He coughed slightly.

Nick pried an eye open and cocked his head. There were no words exchanged and his partner merely nodded.

Warrick grunted as he dragged his sore body off the floor, Kenny rising at the same time, his eyes darting back and forth between the two criminalists.

"Kenny, we're goin' to scout things out. Make sure things are calm out there."

Kenny stammered, "No way, Man. You can't leave me here. You're…you're not buggin' out on me, are ya?"

The little guy began his frantic pacing again, causing Warrick to shake his head in annoyance. "Just cool it, Man. We gotta check things out. We can't just sit around and wait for that dude to find us. You know the best offense is a good defense," Warrick instructed.

Kenny seemed to ignore him. "Why don't you let that cop friend of yours go do that? Not like he should be here anyways," he mumbled. The scrawny imp didn't even identify the other CSI by his name.

Nick hadn't even bothered to get up; instead he cast a weary gaze between both men.

Warrick growled. "I'm calling the shots. Stay put, and don't go anywhere."

The lanky man stomped over to Kenny, who was obviously scared out of his mind. He grabbed Kenny by the shoulders forcefully and shook him a little.  
"After everything me and my partner have gone through? You do what I say. Got it?" Warrick loomed over the shorter man, who gulped loudly.

Kenny scampered away and plopped down on the fold-out chair. He crossed his arms over the desk and lay his head down like a kid who had been told he wasn't getting any more candy.

Warrick didn't care if he was leaving his buddy in a huff; he and Nick needed to get going. He wandered over and held out his hand for his partner to grab. Nick accepted it and was hauled up off the floor. Nick kept his left hand close to his chest and glanced over at his partner as Warrick let out another slight cough.

"Take some of those cold tablets, Man, I'm tired of hearing you hacking."

Warrick cracked a smile. "A'ight. You take some of that aspirin, and we'll high-tail it outside."

Warrick pulled out the blister pack, popped out a pill, and scanned the rest of the package. He's been tossing these things back like they were candy. Only six left of the twelve. With a resigned sigh he swallowed it dry. He fiddled with the aspirin bottle since it would be difficult for Nick to pry open the cap one-handed and passed the medicine to his partner.

Both men headed out the door, Warrick turning his head to Kenny who still sulked in his chair. "We'll be back in a few hours, Dude. Just relax; no one's gonna find you here."

Kenny made no move to acknowledge his friend. Both CSIs moved the crates out of the way and unlocked the door. After it was shut, Warrick remained until he heard Kenny struggle with blocking the exit again. Satisfied, the two men headed back to the bus stop.

They made it to the same bus stop that had dropped them off. Warrick kept a vigilant eye out for any strange cars or suspicious-looking people. An elderly woman sat on the bench and two Mexican guys talked quietly in Spanish. Warrick and Nick stayed around the corner of a building until the last possible moment. They could hear the squeaky transit vehicle approach and both of them walked briskly to the open door and boarded it.

Warrick did not want to take any chances and decided not to take a direct route to the Lab. They would ride over towards the north side of the neighborhood where there was less traffic and fewer intersections. Once there, they would catch a transfer to the station on the other side of the Lab where he and Nick could walk from the backside of the police station.

Both partners keep fairly quiet, each lost in thought. The crowd on the bus was getting antsy as the ride continued. There was a lot of backup on the roads due to construction work. The bus driver yelled out the window when a dump truck cut in front of him without warning. It was obvious that the route was being held up, and the public transportation was running behind for many workers.

The bus lurched forward, causing its passengers to slide all over their seats. Nick had chosen the aisle seat and bumped his hand against one of the poles. His face twisted into a mask of pain, and he shoved it under his right arm for protection. After a few moments of riding out the jarring, he opened his eyes to the worried ones of his partner.

Warrick didn't say a word, knowing how much Nick didn't like to be coddled and looked straight ahead as the bus came to yet another stop. A road crew was pouring cement out for a sidewalk, which forced all the other cars to merge into a single lane. The delay caused the crowd of passengers to mumble to themselves, several people checking their watches and cursing under their breaths.

Finally, after crossing the only major intersection, the road work began thinning out and the bus driver floored it to get the route back on time. Warrick and Nick exited on North Drive; they huddled closer together and tried to stay with the middle of the crowd that got off. Warrick felt the butt of the gun hidden in the waistband of his jeans. Both men darted down a side road, away from the main stretch. Nick kept an eye out on his left, peering at windows and down alleys. Warrick watched for any movement straight ahead and glanced towards the left side of the road where a large office building occupied most of the block.

The Lab was only a mile away and Warrick set a fast pace towards their safety zone. It would have been some sort of relief if a patrol car had happened to drive by, but there had been no such luck. Warrick kept glancing back at Nick who was not able to keep up with his longer strides. He slowed down a notch forgetting that Nick was nursing at least a sprained ankle. He never did ask him when he had injured it.

"When did you twist that?" Warrick motioned towards Nick's foot that he favored more heavily as they went.

Nick averted his eyes. "I dunno." He took a breath. "When I came back to your house the other night. I sort of didn't watch my step."

Warrick tried to recall when Nick had done that, and wondered how he could have missed it. They had walked several blocks when the sounds of a jackhammer could be heard in the distance. It seemed half the city was undergoing some sort of road repair. They were nearing office parks, but it was a bit too early for any of them to be open. They had rode in with early crews going to manual labor jobs.

The sounds of construction grew louder as Nick and Warrick avoided the crew tearing up the road to make room for more sidewalk. The sound of machines smashing asphalt was enough to give both men splitting headaches. They kept their distance from the workers milling around; three of them just stood and watched as four more did all the heavy and dirty work.

The lab was only a quarter of a mile away now, and the sun was just beginning to rise in the sky. The area was no longer cast into darkness and both men felt a bit more comfortable in the dawn light. The cat and mouse game had left both men's nerves fried. They were nearing the wooded area that was right behind the furthest part of the parking lot.

Despite being tired from the long haul, they felt more revitalized by the presence of familiar territory. The area morphed into view, familiar buildings all around the edges. Another dump truck hauling away debris from the construction rolled by them, and a cement truck waited for it to pass before moving forward at high speed.

Nick grabbed Warrick's shoulder to pull him away from the barreling vehicle, the driver honking his horn at the CSI for getting too near its path. Warrick was too exhausted to give him the finger and both men waited for it to pass. A Bobcat rode behind the larger truck, its scooper filled with more asphalt. As the criminalists waited patiently for it to pass as well the driver waved at them playfully.

Warrick felt his heart thunder as the Asian man covered by his hard hat gave him a cold smile. The dump truck from earlier roared behind them as it cut off the path each of them had taken. Nick pulled Warrick towards the left to avoid the Asian who had parked the Bobcat, as they heard the doors shut from the larger vehicle that had stopped abruptly.

The sounds of tires squealed and two SUVs appeared from an adjacent parking area. The four vehicles had parked in various directions, the drivers coming at them from all sides. A fifth car, a Cherokee like the one from the other day, sped up and nearly clipped Warrick as it swerved to one side, the passenger door sliding open.

Nick saw Warrick pull out his gun, but was unable to yell a warning. Two men hopped out and tackled his partner, as he screamed for Nick to run the other way.

Two Asians in dark suits had wrestled the gun away and an eerie zapping noise echoed in the air. Nick went to lunge at the people who had subdued his friend when he felt an arm wrap around his chest from behind. He felt a cold metal device along the side of his neck, then his body spasmed as a jolt of 150,00 volts coursed through him, causing his nerve endings to overload and short out. He felt a sharp pain then everything went black.

The CSIs were swiftly dragged into the dark Cherokee and the team of goons loaded back into their respective cars and drove away. The hired muscle never saw a bicycle and its rider watch the whole thing take place from several hundred feet away. The scrawny man sat there stunned and then quickly pedaled hard to keep track of the kidnapped criminalists.

tbc...

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Gil Grissom sat at his desk, the expression on his face that of a kid at Christmas presented with a box large enough to hold a shiny new bike. While this box was smaller, and definitely did not hold a bike, the grin on his face nevertheless spread into his bearded cheeks. He took a scalpel he'd picked up from the lab and slowly sliced through the heavy sealing tape, as if the anticipation was as fulfilling as what portended to be inside. He peeled back the cardboard flaps and dug through the layer of Styrofoam peanuts to find two new books. The first was _Lepidoptera of Costa Rica and Panama_, on its cover a picture of a newly discovered species of moth. The naturalist discoverer had named it _Epimorius zeller, _after himself, of course. Its bright silver wings shone against a vibrantly green bromeliad. He set it to the side to pick up the next book, its title _Arachnidae of the Eastern Hemisphere. _Its cover was graced by the presence of a fat-bodied spider, its black and red swollen abdomen a full two centimeters across. Grissom eagerly flipped open the cover to the credits page. There it was. _Latrodectus tredecimguttatus, _the karakut black widow of Kazakhstan. He closed the cover back up to stare at the beautiful specimen, the goofy grin still on his face as Catherine entered his office with a light knock on the door.

Her eyes caught the creature on the cover and she grimaced in disgust. She gave a small shiver, not all of it pretended. "New bug book? Now _that_ is really gross."

He tapped a well-manicured nail on the cover. "This guy can take down a camel with one bite." He said it with a small amount of pride, like a father whose son has a wicked pitching arm.

"Do you think you could …?" Catherine made "get it out of my sight" gestures with her hands.

Grissom merely nodded in reply and politely set the books back in their box, nestling them gently on their Styrofoam pillows. He set the box to the side and folded his hands on the desktop, granting his guest his full attention.

"Sorry to bother you on New Book Day, but I've got a rogue CSI I need help tracking down."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "And of whom would you be speaking?"

"Nick. He went to dinner and never came back. I was hoping maybe you had stepped on my supervisory toes and sent him off on something for one of your cases."

"No. Not that I would ever do anything like that, but, no. I haven't seen Nick. Last I heard, he and Warrick were helping out Swing, along with working their normal Grave shifts. Maybe he went home and fell asleep?"

Catherine was already shaking her head. "No. I mean, Nick is a light sleeper. I called his cell and his home phone. No answer. No way he could have slept through. Besides, he wasn't going home."

"All right…where was he going?"

"He said he was going to visit Warrick. Rick left mid-shift ill. I'll admit he did look like he was coming down with something, and Lord knows half of Swing is out with the flu, but that man has the constitution of a horse. He hasn't taken a sick day in…what? Years?"

'Then he was due. I'm assuming you called over to Warrick's?"

Catherine blew at her bangs in exasperation. "Honestly, Gil. Do you really think I would have come in here if it had been that simple? I called there. No answer."

"Maybe when Nick got there Warrick was more ill than you suspected. Maybe he took him to the hospital. Do you have Tina's number?"

Catherine made a small moue, her nose wrinkling. "No…can't say as I do…"

Grissom leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. His fingertips played with the whiskers of his beard. "Maybe HR has it. But Catherine, I have to ask, don't you think you're overreacting just a bit? I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this."

Catherine stared at him, her jaw hanging slightly open. "Hello? Were you here with us eight months ago? Nick was kidnapped? You may remember pieces of Walter Gordon stuck to your clothes."

Grissom frowned at her callousness, but had to admit she was right. Maybe a little paranoia would be better than letting this go.

He sat forward in his chair and picked up the phone. He met Catherine's eyes as he dialed the number, their hold maintained as he uttered a quick greeting to the party on the other end.

"Hi, Jim. Where are you? Uh huh. Do you have time to do me a favor? Great. I want you to make a run over to Warrick's place. The townhouse over on Orchard? Yeah. Just go knock on the door. Warrick should be there. He's probably sleeping but I'd appreciate it if you'd drop by. Yes. I know, an odd request. Humor me, Jim. Thanks.

There," he said as Catherine finally plopped down in his visitor chair. "Feel better?"

"You can patronize me all you want, Gil. I know you're as freaked out about this as I am. You go ahead and play Mr. Zen Calm. I'll fret for the both of us."

"Cath-"

The ringing of his desk phone interrupted him. He held up a finger asking Catherine to wait. She folded her arms and made herself as comfortable as she could in the hard backed chair.

"Grissom… Yes, this is he. Who's calling?… Uh huh… Yes… Yes, Warrick Brown is still employed by the Las Vegas Police Department… Yes, I am his supervisor. What's this all about? … I see… No. No. I suggest you try Mr. Brown at his home… No I won't give you his cell phone number."

He leaned forward in his chair his anger channeled at the blinking phone in front of him on the desk. "Look, pal. This is a CSI lab, not an answering service. We have urgent work to handle here. I strongly suggest you don't call here again!" He slammed the receiver home in disgust.

Catherine had watched and listened to the one-sided dramatic monologue silently, but the minute Gil hung up the phone she blurted out, "What the hell was that all about?"

Grissom sat back in stunned silence for a moment, his fingers returning to their place at his chin. He finally turned his gaze back to Catherine to meet her scared blue eyes.

"That was a collections agency. For the Tangiers Casino credit department. They were looking for Warrick.

* * *

Jim Brass shook his head. That had to have been one of the oddest calls he had ever received from his friend and co-worker in all the years they'd known each other. And Gil Grissom could be an odd man so an odd call shouldn't have been that…well … odd. Which made it all the …no matter. He pressed the pedal down a bit harder, and even briefly considered getting the gumball out. All this for a request to drop by Warrick Brown's townhouse. But the little hairs had been standing up on the back of his neck since the phone call. If a situation was enough to make Grissom paranoid, he guessed there might be something to it. Still wasn't enough for him to go peeling into Warrick's driveway with lights and sirens a-blazing. Just enough for him to stick the gumball on the dash since he was currently doing about fifteen over the speed limit.

He pulled up in front of Warrick's neat stucco townhouse. Neat white plaster. Small neat yard. The whole neighborhood. Tidy and …yup. Neat. Most of the houses were dark and quiet. TVs and porch lights glowed from some of them. He sighed. Contemplated the different ways he was going to be able to offer an explanation for his presence when Warrick showed up at the door in his PJs wiping the sleep from his eyes, or worse showed up at the door smelling of his new wife's perfume. He scowled at the embarrassment that he already figured he was facing but sucked it up and got out of the Taurus to stroll up the small sidewalk to the concrete slab that stood in for the front porch.

No truck in the driveway. Maybe the wife used the drive… but no. No truck in the street either. He raised a set of knuckles to the front door and as his hand neared the wooden panel the air pressure was enough to swing it inward. Hesitating, Brass took a single knuckle and gave the door a light push, stepping back, his hand dropping to his weapon, as the now open doorway revealed the mess that was the Brown living room, visible even in the ambient neighborhood light.

Furniture askew. Trophy on the floor. Lamp its next-door neighbor.

He made a quick dash back out to the Taurus and grabbed his Maglite, flipping on the gumball as he left the car. Its bright red light flashed sickeningly against the night sky, its beams bouncing off all the neat white plaster surrounding him.

He returned to the house and unsnapped his gun from its holster holding it out to his side as he did a quick circuit of the first floor. Finding nothing and no one, he returned to the living area and took the stairs to the second floor. Still and empty. The master bedroom bed was still made and the sliding door to the balcony had been left ajar, cold night air wafting in. Something caught his eye- an amorphous object. He stopped and shone the light about until he realized it was his own breath he had seen, captured in the flashlight beam. A bit of a rarity in Vegas, but an even greater rarity in someone's home. The balcony door must have been open for some time to allow the room to cool that far.

He sighed and ran a hand down in his face. This was probably Not Good. Then he considered the fact that Grissom had somehow known to have him come by here, which further supported his previous conclusion.

He trudged slowly back down the stairs and returned to his car. He was so chilled he actually got back into the car, flipping on the heat, the car's activity recent enough that blissful warm air soon enveloped him as he got his cell phone out and dialed the man who started him on this journey.

"Yeah, Gil?" he sighed. "So, what do you know?

* * *

He finished his phone call, each man now as up to speed on the situation as they could be, considering neither really knew what the situation was. Grissom had agreed to meet Jim at the house so the detective had a bit of a wait.

He reluctantly got back out of the car, pulling his suit jacket closed tighter and wishing he'd brought a warmer coat. His veteran eye caught something that might be of help… the house across the street had a sign planted in their lawn that said "Proud Member of Community Watch Program". And a TV glowed from the front picture window.

He jogged over to the house, straightening his tie and taking out his badge, and knocked on the door. He held his badge out and pasted what he hoped was a non-threatening smile on his cherubic face. A moment later he heard rustling from inside, then the scrape of a chain and the pop of a deadbolt being opened. The door opened an inch or so revealing a watery blue eye surrounded by papery skin. There was no greeting.

"My name is Captain Jim Brass, Las Vegas Police Department. I'm sorry to bother you but I saw your TV was on. May I speak with you for a moment?" he said, trying to meet the single blue eye that confronted him. He held his badge out closer for the eye to see. "I saw you are part of the neighborhood watch program. So you have the number of the LVPD. I can give you my badge number…they can verify who I am."

The eye blinked once, then pulled away from the door. The door shut with a click and at first he thought for good, but then he heard the chain being slid back and the door opened to reveal a tiny older woman in a Buffalo Bills sweatshirt and red sweatpants. She was all of five foot nothing, and her skin was thin and blue-veined, her hair sparse and a grayish blond, but neatly permed. The woman gave him a quick once over and must have liked what she saw because a large yellow smile formed on her face.

"Think I've seen you on TV, actually, Captain. And you were at one of the Beyond the Call of Duty ceremonies I attended. Marge Korchynski." And she stuck a liver-spotted hand out for Jim. He returned her handshake, surprised by the strength shown in her grip.

"Thanks Marge. Call me Jim. Can we um …," and he gestured into her house as he tried to keep from stamping his feet on her porch as he froze.

"Where are my manners? Of course. C'mon in," she said, holding the door open and stepping back to allow him to enter the house. "I forget you guys consider this cold. I'm from Buffalo. This is mid July weather for us," she said with a smile.

Jim returned the smile. "I'm from Jersey. It got real cold there, too. But I've been here for so long …the blood thins."

She gestured him over to a plaid overstuffed couch where he perched, afraid to sit too far back and sink too deeply. He chuckled when she offered him an afghan. He held up a hand and shook his head. "No, thanks. Inside is enough. So, Marge …"

"You're here about Mr. Brown aren't you?"

He was brought up short. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pen and his battered leather notebook, flipping it open to the next clean page.

"Yes, I am. Now why would you ask me that?"

"Because I saw it."

"Saw what, Marge."

"I saw those men chasing Mr. Brown and his friend."

Brass blinked several times. "I'm sorry you saw what? Start at the beginning."

"I heard a loud noise, loud enough to interrupt Craig Ferguson. Love that man, that Scottish accent? Anyway, I looked out the window and a tow truck was taking Mr. Brown's vehicle! At first I thought maybe in this cold weather it didn't start or something but then Mr. Brown and his friend came running out of the house and started yelling at the tow truck driver. Well he and Mrs. Brown both work, she's a nurse you know, and I can't believe that their vehicle would be repossessed but everyone has their own financial woes and far be it for me to judge so I went back to my TV. But there was a block of commercials on so I got up to make a bag of microwave popcorn and I saw two vehicles pull up and all these men dressed in black from head to toe got out and went into Mr. Brown's house. A little while later, Mr. Brown and his friend came running out from the back yard, the men still chasing them. They jumped into his friend's truck and peeled away and the men in black jumped into their cars and followed them. It's been quiet since then when I saw your car pull up. I knew you were the police because of your red light, you see."

Jim sat stunned as the story unfolded, his notebook page still blank as the pen hovered over it. He tried to piece together what she had told him, and all he got was that a bunch of guys were chasing Warrick and Nick, probably, since that one always seemed to attract trouble, and they had all taken off together in the midst of a car chase.

"Marge…umm… how to ask this delicately? Why the hell didn't you report this? Why didn't you call 911?"

Her brows knitted together in a scowl. "Oh, I did, Jim. This old brain of mine is still firing on all cylinders, thank you very much. I called 911 and told them what happened. This really nasty individual at the other end told me that it was probably just a case of the truck getting repo-ed and Mr. Brown not being happy about it and trying to start a fight. He told me, 'maybe he oughta try paying his bills, and you oughta learn to keep your nosing around to yourself.' 911 response is not what it used to be and I'm bringing it up at our next meeting with Sheriff Atwater."

Brass shook his head in further confusion. There were not that many 911 dispatchers and over 75 of them were females. None of the male dispatchers he knew would ever, ever respond in that manner. He finally jotted down a note on his pad to remind him to have the tape pulled for the call.

"Marge, I um, don't suppose you…"

"Got the plates? Of course I did. At least on one of them. The first car was a fancy import sedan. Black, of course. Couldn't tell the make and the plate was too far away in the dark. The second was a Jeep Grand Cherokee, good old Chrysler product. Black, too, naturally. The plate on it was Kilo David 9-9-9."

Brass shook his head. Old broad made a better witness than a cop. "Marge, you have been a huge help." He dug into the inner pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a business card. "If you ever, and I mean ever, need anything, see anything - if you get a speeding ticket - I want you to call me? Will you do that?"

Her blue eyes twinkled as she moved an appreciative gaze over his form. "Anything?"

* * *

Twenty minutes later he was back standing in front of the Brown townhouse, the scent of rosewater clinging to his cheek from where Marge had planted a peck on it. Gil Grissom pulled up in a department issued Denali. The bearded criminalist got out and pulled a large bag out from the back seat, his eyes already taking in his surroundings as he shut the door.

"Quiet neighborhood," he remarked at Jim's approach.

"Not that quiet I'm afraid," Jim said with a sigh.

Grissom cocked an eyebrow at this, the silver in his hair reflecting in the moonlight.

"Why don't we go inside," Jim continued. "It's freezing out here."

The two men entered the home and stopped in the foyer. Grissom's eyes were already assessing the damage around him, a picture of what happened forming in his mind.

He clicked on his flashlight to match Jim's and the two men swooped the beams around the living room, the light catching on the disturbed furniture and bric-a-brac.

Gil sighed and turned to Jim. "Doesn't look good. Let's turn on the lights and get a better idea of what's going on."

The stocky detective shook his head slowly. "Already tried. No power." Grissom turned his head to glance out the window, confirming the presence of lights up and down the block. Another odd piece to the puzzle.

Jim gestured with his hand to the couch and bade the CSI sit down. He took the chair opposite, neither man aware that their positions were shared by the objects of their concern mere hours ago.

Brass quickly filled Grissom in on what the lady from across the street had told him.

"Sounds like she was watching a movie and fell asleep. A gang of men in black? A car chase? What the hell went on here, Jim?"

"Damned if I know. But the old bird got me a plate to run on one of the pursuers. I'll see where that gets us. I already put a BOLO out on Nick's plate."

Grissom grabbed his bag and began to process the scene that was the Brown townhouse. Following protocol he snapped on latex gloves and put paper booties on his shoes.

Jim returned to his Taurus to see where he could get with his info.

Half an hour later Grissom's efforts had garnered him a baseball trophy, a corner of its marble base covered in a dark brown spot with some hairs stuck in it, and not much more. The 1st floor of the townhouse was undisturbed for the most part away from the living area. He shone his flashlight on the stairs to the second floor and worked his way up. When he reached the master bedroom he bent slowly at his knees and directed the beam of battery-powered light on the bedside table. A phone lay on the floor, the receiver askew. As Grissom's hand reached for the hand set he froze. _What the … _

A jar of print powder and a brush lay on the floor. Black carbon powder had already been applied to the receiver. Closer examination showed no prints revealed by the application.

He sat back on his heels and tried to deal with what he was seeing in his head. Warrick or Nick had already begun processing the house, probably before the men in black showed up. But why?

His further thoughts were interrupted by Jim's joining him in the bedroom. The expression on the captain's face was sour liked he'd just tasted bile. He sighed heavily and leaned against the bedroom doorframe. "I just got a call in on our BOLO. Nick's truck was found over in the warehouse district. Flipped on its side, and riddled with bullet holes. Neither of our guys was in it…what the hell did they get themselves into, Gil?"

* * *

Tbc...

You're last 'calm' chapter


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

Anderson Cooper. The first thing that entered his head as he brushed the surface of consciousness was Anderson Cooper. The CNN talking head was blabbering about an auto manufacturing plant that was shutting down in upstate New York. Through the haze he heard the anchor bemoaning the greed of the car companies. And this coming from the son of Gloria Vanderbilt, the Poor Little Rich Girl. As the reporter's voice continued it took on a high-pitched tone. So high as to be almost undetectable by human ears. The pitch increased in volume and intensity until Warrick thought his ears might bleed. As he continued to fight his way back through the blackness he realized that it wasn't Anderson Cooper's voice. It was the ringing in his ears and the pain in his head that he was hearing.

Warrick had had hangovers a-plenty in his lifetime. The one after his impromptu marriage at Circus Circus was one for the record books. But this … a wave of nausea washed over him and he let out an involuntary moan. Each fiber of nerve in his body felt like it had been plucked from his body, dunked in acid, and then unceremoniously shoved back into place to continue to burn from within.

And his muscles…no workout, no fight, no knockdown drag-out no- holds-barred rumble he had ever had, had caused this kind of debilitating all-encompassing soreness. It wasn't pain so much as if his body was one giant tender bruise. It left him weak as a kitten, unable to even lift a hand to wipe at his eye where the blood from his newly reopened cut had dripped.

The blood grew more annoying and he made a more valiant attempt to raise his hand, only then realizing that a leather strap held it to the chair in which he was sitting. The adrenaline surge at this new information woke him up further, increasing the throbbing in his head and on his neck. The stun gun … he remembered now.

And he remembered his partner… he raised his head to look for his friend and noted Nick in a chair to his right. The CSI was still unconscious, slumped in a chair like his and restrained in similar fashion. The fact that his partner was still out worried him.

Some of his cop friends in the academy told him how they had to subject themselves to Taser usage so they would know what it was like. It was supposed to sensitize the officer to its use when subduing a suspect. Each of the cops had told him it was like getting punched really hard at the weapon discharge site, then your legs went out from underneath you for a few minutes. They said they were weak-kneed for a while afterwards and had some pain where it hit them … but this… this was obviously not your father's Taser gun. Warrick had read an article about EMD - Electro-Muscular Disruption technology. It was supposed to be ten times the power of traditional stun guns and incapacitate its victims for upwards of an hour. It was also supposed to be in the early stages of testing. Not too early he guessed.

He opened his mouth to call Nick's name when he realized they weren't alone in the room.

A man was seated in a high-backed red leather chair in front of them. Between him and the two CSIs stretched an elaborate wooden table; the wood it was made from must have stripped an acre of rainforest. His face was in shadow, the light from a huge bank of TV screens back-lighting him. All that could be told of him was that his form appeared short and slender, and he wore a dark suit. A hand left his lap to rest on the arm of the chair, the blue light from the monitors reflecting eerily off his smooth hairless skin. Slender fingers began to drum out a light staccato on the chair arm, as if he was perfectly comfortable to wait in silence.

The TV screens behind him were tuned in to every channel imaginable. News programming from CNN, Fox, the BBC, Al Jazeera. Anchors against backdrops of every major metropolitan city. London, Beijing, Sydney, Baghdad, Seoul. Other TVs had horse races, college football games, and even what appeared to be a Texas Hold 'Em game out of the Flamingo in Vegas.

Anderson Cooper's voice had gone away, to be replaced by that of a woman speaking an Oriental language of some kind. After a few seconds of her, the boisterous voice of an anchor from Australia chimed in to talk for three seconds about a bonzer rugby match. The Aussie was followed by Spanish, German, English, Farsi. He caught the mystery man's other hand moving in the shadow and realized he held a remote in it, controlling the TV screens. He was the one flipping through the channels at lightning speed, still sitting in his chair in the shadows without uttering a word.

Warrick tried moving in his seat, but he soon discovered another leather strap had been drawn across his chest, holding him firmly to his chair.

As adrenaline burned away the last remnants of fog over his brain he realized who the man was sitting in front of them. The Voice.

As if reading Warrick's mind, the man made a small motion with the remote, muting all the televisions instantly, but leaving their images on the screens.

He leaned forward, further into the ambient light, his face still obscured by shadows.

"Welcome to my home, Mr. Brown." The same mellifluous tone. Asian inflection, mellowed by a slight British accent. And cold and hard as steel.

Anger coursed through the CSI at the casual tone. He struggled briefly against his straps, but his sore muscles, compounded by the pain in his injured shoulder were completely sapped of strength and he quickly stopped, aware that he was wasting precious energy. He was also soon aware that his actions were cause for amusement to their captor as a smug chuckle emanated from the darkened chair in front of him.

"You God damned son of a bitch! Where are we? Where's Tina? I'll kill you, you sadistic mother-"

He was brought up short by the sight of the man's slender hand rising from the chair arm to wave a finger at him, chiding him like a Catholic school nun. "Tut, tut, Mr. Brown. You may vent your spleen at me as much as you care to. I feel I must warn you though, that when you let your emotions be known it weakens your position. And your position is, of course, already quite weak. Ahhh … I think your friend is joining us. Allow me to help in his revival. I grow impatient waiting for him." He took the same finger and gestured to someone behind the two CSIs.

A large man, possibly one of those sent to Warrick's home, moved into his peripheral vision. The henchman moved to plant himself in front of Nick who had indeed begun to come around. A meaty hand reached out and backhanded Nick across the face. Warrick lunged against his restraints to no avail.

The henchman stepped back around to return to the shadows behind them as Nick shook off the pain from the blow and blinked his eyes several times. A small trickle of blood colored the corner of his mouth.

Warrick watched as his partner's eyes widened as he realized their circumstances. Warrick felt his stomach turn as he saw Nick begin to struggle against his restraints. Nick's claustrophobia had been a well-kept secret. So well kept he didn't even know if Nick realized he knew of its newly formed existence.

His partner's eyes never made it over to him. He couldn't even tell if Nick knew he was in the room. Instead, he saw Nick begin to thrash vainly in his seat, his arms straining mightily, the veins in his forearms popping out at the effort.

Nick was used to waking from nightmares. They had become so knitted into the fabric of his life that he had worked out ways of dealing with them. When he awoke, tangled in his bed sheets, he knew enough to take deep slow breaths. To accept the rush of adrenaline with a minimum of fuss and allow his body to quiet for a bit. Normally, he'd take advantage of his supercharged wakening by throwing on sweats and hitting the streets for a run, burning off the stress hormone, replacing it with exercise released endorphins.

Here, the deep slow breaths made things worse. As his chest was restrained each deep breath worsened his feeling of confinement, the pressure on his sternum holding back the full expansion of his lungs.

As he continued to labor against his captivity a sudden sharp pain burst like a fireball in his left hand. He stared dumbly down at the origin of the agony, the sight of his swollen broken wrist bringing it all back. The car chase. The kidnapping at the Lab. He finally started to look around him, his harsh breathing the only sound he could hear. Another small dark area, illuminated only by the bank of monitors, the harsh electronic light hurting his eyes. The set up was too familiar. He squeezed his eyes shut. His mind was racing off, horrifying memories flooding back.

And much like the last time, it was the voice of his partner that brought him back.

Warrick had been sitting, struck speechless as he watched his friend awaken to a living version of his worst nightmares. He had been torn. His concern for his partner battled against his reluctance to show it in front of their captor. He didn't yet know how much The Voice knew of his and Nick's friendship and his mind was fomenting a plan. He was going to write Nick off as a nosy co-worker. An annoyance. Anything to make this guy think that Nick's presence was nothing to him. Nick's reaction upon reviving was worse than he thought it would be. Should have known it would be. Once again he cursed himself for allowing Nick to help and getting him caught up in this tempest.

And Tina. His new wife. She had no experience in dealing with criminals. She was soft and kind-hearted. A nurse who liked to kiss scraped knees and put SpongeBob bandages on them. Who liked to soothe worried brows with a cool hand. She would have no ability to last under any sort of duress. Not that he and Nick would fare much better …

Concern won out temporarily and he tried to put Nick out of his mind. Needed to at least let Nick know he was there and hope his words helped bring his partner back down.

Making a show of ignoring Nick's presence he concentrated on the man in front of him. His eyes had adjusted somewhat although the strobe affect of the flickering screens made it hard. Now he could see better, he noted the man's physical appearance. Not all that threatening. Small and wiry thin. Dark suit. Impeccably tailored. His face was thin and hairless. Grey silvered the temples bracketing almond-shaped eyes.

Eyes that were currently staring at Nick's struggling form. A small smile twisted at the corner of his mouth.

"So what do I call you? Mr. Voice?" Warrick asked with scorn. It succeeded in getting the man's attention. He also noted Nick's struggles slow beside him.

The man appeared to think for a moment. "You may call me Mr. Sang."

"Mister Song? What kind of name is that?" he continued, trying to needle the man and work at the infuriating demeanor of nonchalance.

"It's Sang," the man repeated calmly, the pronunciation difference subtle but apparent. "It is the closest translation for Voice that your limited American education would allow you to be able to speak. So. Now that we have been properly introduced let me inform you of your choices. You tell me the whereabouts of Mr. Longman and you, your wife, and your friend leave here relatively unscathed. Or... I utilize alternative methods of abstracting the knowledge you conceal from me, and then you tell me the whereabouts of Mr. Longman. None of you leave unscathed. The quality of decision is like the well-timed swoop of  
a falcon that enables it to strike and destroy its victim. Choose your answer wisely, Mr. Brown."

Warrick held the fates of four people in his hands. It was a daunting and undesirable role to be forced into. He didn't risk a glance at Nick to seek his silent council. As much as Kenny and his partner didn't get along, Nick would not succumb to this scumbag and neither would he. He was sure that once the information was obtained they would be all killed. No, he needed to stall and allow time for them to find a way out of this, or hope that someone was out there tracking them down.

Warrick could tell that Nick had calmed somewhat. He heard him mutter something under his breath; it had a strange rhythm and cadence. After a moment he realized Nick was counting backwards. It was a technique he'd heard him use perhaps once or twice in recent months; more than likely Nick wasn't even aware he was doing it.

Warrick kept a steely glare on his captor. "You made a big mistake snatching my wife. I'm not going to tell you anything. I'm no fool. As soon as I tell you where Kenny is, you'll off me, Tina and my annoying partner. The way I see it, I hold all the cards."

Warrick's tone was confrontational and held all the challenge and bravado of a professional athlete trading trash talk. He even raised his eyebrows in mock one-upmanship. Warrick could ooze smugness at a drop of the hat.

The Voice didn't seem very impressed by his act. "It's obvious that you don't hold much regard for your new bride. But what about your friend, Mr. Brown?" the Asian man challenged, glancing at his partner who had stilled over the past few moments.

Warrick snorted as he glanced callously over at Nick. "Stokes? Man, he's my assigned partner and a nosy one at that."

"You ungrateful asshole," Nick cursed loudly enough in the room for both men to hear.

Warrick kept his game face on, knowing his pal caught on to the charade. He rolled his eyes and stared straight at the mob boss.

The Voice shrugged. "Very well, Mr. Brown. It doesn't really matter to me. I'll get the information that I seek. My methods have never failed me."

The Asian snapped his fingers twice and the henchman that had struck Nick left them. After a long moment a female sauntered into the room.

Warrick tried to keep his expression neutral as this new player in the game stood beside her boss. This lady definitely meant business; the vibe emanating from her made his body stiffen at the power she evoked. He watched Nick's expression out of the corner of his eye and could sense his awe at her presence. She was tall and athletic looking for an Asian. She stood six feet, maybe more with her stiletto heels. She was very alluring, in a kinky Marilyn Manson sort of way.

The woman wore tight black leather pants that accented her shapely hips and a white semi-see through blouse. The first three buttons were unclasped to show off ample breasts, barely obscured by a lacy black bra. Her long jet-black hair was pulled up into an intricate bun, held together loosely by long jeweled hairpins.

"This is my personal assistant, Madame Chu," Mr. Sang introduced with a slight smile. The Voice turned to face the woman. "She's quite a temptress, but most men cannot handle her unique abilities."

Warrick was oddly mesmerized by her. She was a tantalizing mix of pure sexuality coupled with some twisted sense of inner menace. There was a strong yet strange resemblance to some freaky version of Lucy Lu, if the actress hung out at industrial S&M clubs.

"Madame Chu was trained as a physician many years ago. Of course, her skills were wasted on healing the weak. Now she's devoted them to the extraction of information."

As he spoke the dominatrix- looking woman carefully placed a sleek leather medical bag on the table. She rummaged through it with her impossibly long enameled nails. Each one was a deep crimson color, and they made a clicking sound as they brushed over her various objects. Chu spread out a red velvet cloth and began placing what looked like thin wiry needles in perfect order. Each one was about three inches in length, with some sort of rubber tube encasing them.

Madame Chu finished setting her instruments down and sauntered towards Warrick. She raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes carefully appraising every inch of his face and down his body. She ran her fingertips along the side of his neck and cupped his chin.

"I enjoy my job, Mr. Brown," she said in a voice reminiscent of the Far East. "I take great pride in my perfection of the art of pain. In fact, the name Chu translates to pain and suffering. It goes back over three hundred centuries. For three millennia my family has carried this name. Now, as much pleasure as I receive from the agony of others, I always give the option at the beginning for my _patient_ to acquiesce. There's no shame in defeat. I've left many men cowering and begging for mercy."

Her voice grated on his ears, but he wasn't going to fall to her intimidation. "I'm not some clown you can try to shake. I won't hand over Kenny to you two-bit hoods. Friendship is something I honor, a term I think you know nothing about." Warrick's words were brave, but he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that this situation had just gone from bad to worse. Pain wasn't something he was afraid of, but he'd rather not have to endure it.

Nick looked over at his partner. As much as he wanted to keep up the charade of a hurt and pissed off colleague, he couldn't help but fear for his partner for what was going to transpire. The freaky chick was rubbing the end of her thumbnail along the edge of Warrick's lips. The doctor looked way too interested in Warrick's reactions. She was motivated by power, but Warrick just glared at her coldly. Madame Chu ran her fingernail along the center of his throat, over his chest, and let it continue down along the buttons of his shirt.

She licked her lips. "Very nice," she cooed.

Nick felt his body shiver involuntarily. He couldn't just sit there and let this woman torture his best friend. Nick's right fist clenched and unclenched unconsciously, his eyes never drifting from the movement of the  
woman's nails. He adjusted uncomfortably in his chair trying not to squirm too much. The feeling of being restrained was somewhat more bearable now and his pulse had slowed down as he adjusted to his surroundings.

He still felt like he had run a marathon without warming up. His muscles were sore, and he felt a burning sensation where the Tazer had connected with his neck. He tried to force back the pain from the past few hours, back into the same depths of his mind where the remnants of his near panic attack were currently hiding.

He was about to say something when a set of green eyes flashed at him to keep quiet. Warrick had only glanced at him for the briefest of seconds but the silent signal sent his way was easy to interpret. _Don't do anything; don't let them win._ This was all just a game to these lousy excuses for human beings. They lived in a whole other world where they didn't have to abide by society's rules. Nick felt his jaw tighten at the prospect of sitting back helpless.

The doctor moved away from Warrick as she dug through her little bag of secret goodies. She found the item she desired and set it next to her collection of torture devices. She glanced over at Nick and grinned at him coyly. "Smelling salts."

Nick didn't give her the satisfaction of showing her his revulsion at the giddy tone she used to answer his unvocalized question.

Not willing for the focus to shift away, Mr. Sang reached to one end of his elaborate table and took in hand a leather- bound file box. He sifted through the contents and pulled out an 8x10 photo of Tina Brown, apparently taken in front of the hospital where she worked. He waved it in the air and let it float down to the table. "Rulers seize power by striking fear into others. A powerful general obtains every weakness of his enemy and presses his advantage during battle. Your wife, Mr. Brown, is one such weakness."

Both CSIs remained mute, each one knowing that this man used every reaction as a tool. Warrick kept his hot temper under wraps. He would not relinquish any more control to this man. He sat defiantly in his chair. Mr. Sang's assistant picked up one of her needles and idly twisted it between her delicate fingertips.

The Voice pulled out a few files and thumbed through the contents. "My appetite for information is boundless and my reach is limitless. Your nosy neighbor called 911 after our visit to your home. Of course, the call was simply re-routed. Your police friends have no idea where you are."

He licked the end of his pointer finger and pulled apart the sticky forms. "An enemy has many weaknesses; that is why the powerful exploit every aspect and shred their opponents with it."

The Voice got up and moved to their side of the table, his gaze never wavering from Warrick. "You're a formidable looking man. Your endurance I'm sure is quite admirable. But tell me, how much pain do you think Mr. Stokes can take? Despite his equally athletic physique, I know he's lived through quite a bit of trauma already."

Warrick couldn't suppress his shocked expression, stepping right into The Voice's trap. Madame Chu strolled over towards Nick and loomed over him. She slid her slender fingers into his silky hair. Nick straightened as much as he could in his restrained position, his narrow eyes averted to hide his distaste at her actions.

"You're not gonna yank my chain threatening _him_," Warrick scoffed.

The Voice shook his head disappointedly as he tapped his file against a designer slacks clad thigh. "You know, your psychiatrist kept detailed notes of your visits after Mr. Stokes's little incident last summer. The guilt you carry around from that coin toss must still eat away at you at night. How glad are you that it didn't turn up tails?"

Warrick felt his bonds rub through his clothes as he tried to lunge out of his chair. His cheeks flushed with the fiery anger that burned in the pit of his stomach. "You asshole! You have my medical records?" Warrick let spittle fly through the air at his fury.

He didn't dare look at Nick; this kind of personal violation was a sickening slap to the both of them. The Voice's smug smile only served to enrage the CSI. He cast a weary glance at Nick who had paled at the words, but remained defiant. The vile woman remained stooped over giving his partner a free peep  
show of her ample cleavage. She began to stroke the left side of his face, her eyes admiring his strong jaw line.

"You also harbor doubt over your involvement over the assault that your dear friend suffered at the hands of a Nigel Crane. Tut tut, Mr. Brown. You have this bad habit of leaving people behind in unsecured areas. Your first mistake got Holly Gribbs killed, and your last few miscues have resulted in unfortunate events for Mr. Stokes."

Warrick was seething. He leaned as far he could in the chair, his arms trembling from pulling at his restraints. His mind raced with so many emotions there were no words to express them rationally. The Voice leaned back, his hand seeking his television remote. He pointed it at the bank of screens and mashed down on a button.

All the plasmas morphed black then flashed brightly with the images of a news reporter. The anchorwoman was busy speaking into her microphone, her words muted to showcase the flurry of activity behind her. A mass of reporters surged in the wake of an ambulance that pulled up, the news lady yammering away as a stretcher was pushed inside.

Warrick saw himself and Catherine run alongside Nick as he was being rushed in. The cameraman had focused on the dramatic scene, capturing Nick's bite-riddled face and the swarm of people taking care of him. The camera had zoomed in on Warrick's hand clutching Nick's, his head bowed. Catherine was on the other side, her hand on the young man's shoulder, and then the image disappeared as they vanished inside the doors of the Emergency Room.

Nick had to swallow the bile that churned from his stomach and threatened to make him sick. He bit his lip, his eyes staring at his bound arms. He kept his head when Sang had threatened him with the interrogation techniques of the vile woman in front of him. He didn't flinch when he revealed Warrick's secret. He wasn't going to add to the humiliation or strip away any more of Warrick's dignity by reacting to the violation of the secrets divulged to his therapist. He knew Warrick carried some burdens after his attack, but trying to soothe his friend would only play into their captor's hands.

But seeing his rescue in living color…while having some clue that it might have been broadcast, re-living it was like a punch to the gut and he had to avert his gaze. He couldn't suppress the shivers that racked his body, fighting to keep his nausea at bay. He had stared down the sultry woman as she tired to rattle his cage with her caresses, but now she was leering at him, studying his every facial expression. A smile tugged at her features at his inability to watch the recorded news broadcast.

She moved over to his ear and whispered sweet nothings there as if she was his lover. Her giggle sounded like a rusty gate being forced open and made him clench his teeth. Her hand squeezed his knee gently before it slid along the inside of his inner thigh. "Perhaps when I'm done with you, I may enjoy the pleasure of your company. I've never had to practice my skills on such loveliness before. And I must admit it's quite a turn on to see a handsome man scream under my ministrations," she whispered in a husky voice.

Nick glared at her, happy to have a chance to channel some of his anxiety from his near death experience into something more focused like blazing at the heartless woman.

The Voice smiled at the display. "I must admit, I admired Walter Gordon's plan quite a bit. He had almost every detail meticulously calculated. His ability to inflict total chaos and fear into his enemy was a sign of great power."

"You're a sick little man," Warrick growled.

Sang chuckled. "Don't ever underestimate me again. Mr. Stokes is your weakness, I'd say more than your new bride. Right now she's just extra insurance. I have you exactly where I want you. Right under my thumb." He flicked his wrist and pointed his finger signaling for his assistant to begin.

Madame Chu picked up her first needle. "The first few years after medical school, I practiced ancient Chinese acupuncture. The body has different areas for controlling energy channels. Of course it's easy to alter the flow of _qi_ by applying pressure to the right areas. However, using the needles to inflict pain… well that's an art."

Warrick watched in horror as she twiddled the needle between her fingertips in gleeful anticipation.

Tbc...

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

Nick tensed, then felt himself relax as he saw her hesitate. The needle continued to twirl, the ambient room light glinting off the stainless steel. She raised her other hand to her mouth to tap her lacquered nails on her lips in thought. A small grin twitched at the corner of her painted mouth. She put the needle back down on the velvet pad and reached for the medical bag. She pulled out a surgical scalpel, the highly polished instrument's glimmer flashing in the darkened room.

She moved back behind Nick and bent to whisper once more in his ear. "I find this works much better when the flesh I work on is bared." She took the blade and ran it lightly down the front of his shirt, catching the threads that held the buttons on and shredding them slowly. His shirt fell loose at the front, held shut only by the leather strap across his chest. On his chest rested a Med-alert pendant. Polished nails toyed with the silver medallion. "Ooooh. Pretty jewelry. A caduceus. Hippocrates must be rolling over in his grave…_first do no harm _…" Her mouth turned up in a nausea-inducing smile.

She moved the scalpel to the sleeves of his shirt, the sharp blade requiring little pressure to cut through the cotton fabric from shoulder to wrist. She continued the cut up through the collar, catching the side of his neck and drawing blood. She bent her lips to the cut and lightly licked at it. She stood back up and made a show of relishing in its taste. She cocked her head to the side, her expression pensive.

"Your Fire is strong. That's housed here," she said, running her hand into the front of his opened shirt to place a palm over his heart. "Your Metal is strong as well," she noted, moving her hand to spread across his sternum. She ran her nails across his pecs leaving light scratch marks behind. "Your Fire is well balanced by your Water," she continued as her hand ran down his stomach to rest on his groin. The grating giggle was back as she enjoyed feeling him squirm beneath her touch. Her hand left his crotch to move back up to his stomach. "Your Earth- your intellect- is housed here in your spleen. Also quite strong. But your Wood, your _Hun_, it is in disorder." She bent closer to his ear. "I can taste it. Your _Hun_ is your Ethereal Soul. I sense that you were very close to Death recently. Your soul was caught between This world and the Next. Part of it still seeks the Next."

Nick had managed to swallow back his emotions and the words that choked in his throat as he was forced to submit to her taunting and touches. Until now. Her words, quietly whispered in his ear, echoed and reverberated in his mind. He recoiled at the accusation that any part of him longed for death. He wanted to scream at her, _You're wrong. I proved it. I fought. I made it. I lived_. But he refused to allow her to rile him and he gained small satisfaction at the disappointed frown on her face when she failed to get a reaction from him.

Her disappointment soon translated to anger and she began again to carve at the fabric of his shirt, no longer caring about the long slices she was leaving in his flesh. When she was done his shirt was gone, replaced by long rivulets of crimson that dripped down his arms, neck, back, and chest.

Warrick sat silently, his smack talk having abandoned him. His eyes flitted between watching what was happening to his partner and watching the expression on The Voice's face as he took in the spectacle.

The TV monitors behind their captor all showed the same scene. Sang had frozen the video in place, the image that of Warrick's tear-stained face as he bent to talk to Nick on the stretcher.

The room was silent as she worked on Nick's shirt. Off in the dark could now be heard the slightest of sounds. Scratching. Rustling. And an odd humming. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the noise, hoping it might give a clue as to their whereabouts or aid in their escape in some way. But the sounds were fleeting and only barely perceptible. His focus was interrupted by the return of the doctor's voice.

She had exchanged the scalpel for the first of the steel needles again and moved to the back of Nick's chair. With his shirt gone the tendons in his neck were now exposed. Taut with fear and tension. She ran an enameled nail down one of them slowly, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Allow me to give you gentleman the benefit of an anatomy lesson. Watch carefully." She took the thin needle and placed it at the point on Nick's neck where it joined his back. "This is the Ulnar Nerve," and in saying it, thrust the needle into his flesh. Nick immediately seized in pain and stared wide-eyed as his right hand curled into a fist, the effort so strong his nails dug into his palm. "The patient is now experiencing the contraction of the muscles in his hand and forearm. Tendons are being pulled beyond their normal capabilities, and the muscle fibers are being stretched as well." She left the needle in place and reached around to grab Nick's hand. She made a show of trying to pry his fingers open, but was unable to do so. "Quite strong, aren't you?" she said coolly.

She moved to the bag and pulled out a second needle. Nick's concentration was taken by the pain and the sight of his hand under someone else's control. He made no sign of noticing as she returned to her place behind him with the next needle.

"This is the Obturator Nerve." She bent at the waist, her hair brushing across Nick's shoulders as she ran her fingertips across his flank through the open back of the chair. Finding the right location with nimble fingers, she forced the needle into the flesh of his lower back next to his spine.

Warrick watched in horror as Nick's right leg was seized by terrible spasms. His partner's foot twitched and jerked at the leather restraints and he writhed in agony.

Warrick sputtered with uncontrollable hatred and disgust. The sight of his partner in so much pain was too much. All he had to do was open his mouth. A few words and this could be over.

He met Nick's eyes. His partner was grunting, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his cheeks were protruding. But he was also shaking his head. _Don't give it up. Not on my account_, his eyes read.

Warrick shook his head sadly in response. Kept his peace and held Nick's gaze in silent acknowledgment.

Madame Chu had stepped back to enjoy her handiwork and studied the unspoken communication between the two men. She gave an admiring nod at the strength she saw there.

"Quite the bond you two have," she commented. "Let's see how strong it really is."

She moved back to the table and pulled out a third needle, twirling it in her fingers.

"The next lesson is a particular favorite of mine. This is the Ilioinguinal Nerve." She bent once more to place the needle slightly above the previous one. "Let's see how strong your Water is," she said with an evil smile.

She poked the needle just under the surface of his skin, toying with him; reveling in the anticipation. She thrust the metal sliver in with what could only be described as an orgasmic groan and Nick's lower half exploded in fire.

"This nerve controls the abdomen, the thighs, and the Center of his Yang," she said with a leer. She stepped back around to study Nick's face, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she watched, captivated with what she saw.

Nick wrestled in anguish, but this was too much. It spread from his stomach to his groin like fire, the center of his body a supernova of bright white pain. His chest heaved violently but the agony stole his breath. As his gasping quickened he felt his vision gray. Hyperventilation brought his CO2 to levels incompatible with consciousness and his head dropped forward on his chest as he mercifully passed out.

Warrick watched helplessly as he saw his partner straining to bend in his seat, the straps on his chest and legs the only thing holding the man straight in the chair. Nick's eyes looked around him wildly, unseeing as he futilely attempted to suck air in fast enough past clenched teeth. Nick's gasping accelerated and as Warrick tried to catch his partner's eyes he saw them begin to roll back in their sockets. Nick's head bobbed twice, then his chin crashed into his chest to loll there. His pale face slackened and Warrick felt himself take what felt like his first breath in hours as his partner finally succumbed to the pain. It was then that he reached his decision. There was no way he'd let his friend face another minute like the last one.

"You have broken him, my Dear." Warrick tore his eyes away from his partner's unconscious form at the unexpected sound. The Voice had remained silent through all of Nick's suffering, the only indication he was aware of it the fleeting smiles that tugged at the corners of his mouth. His eyes were expressionless. Cold and dead.

"I can wake him, if you wish. I thought perhaps you might give Mr. Brown another chance to save his partner from my further ministrations. Of course, I could always have his wife brought out …working on a woman could be very interesting."

"No. She remains where she is. The wise general does not squander his assets for pleasure. They are kept behind the lines to insure victory."

She nodded and returned to the table to pick up the scalpel. "I thought to use my medicinal preparation on him, but I think another avenue presents itself."

She sliced the leather strap over Nick's left arm and it fell in two slack pieces off his limb. She ran a finger lovingly across his swollen wrist, prodding ungently at the bones. "He appears to have fractured some of the carpal bones. First, I will relieve him of his primitive attempt at first aid." She lifted his limp hand and ran the scalpel over the white bandage tape, the cardboard slats falling free to the floor. Once the splint had been removed she toyed with his fingers. Grasping the middle finger she pulled it back, hyperextending his hand, causing the broken bones to grate on one another. Nick gasped and lifted his head from his chest, dragged up from the blackness to confront the new pain assailing him. She dropped the hand to let it fall onto the chair arm, causing another flare of pain. His arm now free he pulled his hand to his chest and cradled it, a brief sob escaping his lips.

Warrick now knew the decision he had reached was the right one. While his friend was unconscious he could pretend that they had time. That the torture was ending. Now that Nick had been awakened for what could only be another round, he knew it was over.

"All right! Stop! You crazy sadistic bitch! Leave him alone!" He turned his gaze to The Voice. "I'll tell you where Kenny is. You just gotta…you gotta stop this, Man. You gotta stop it." A tear ran from his eye to sit fat and glistening on his cheek. "Enough!"

The Voice sat up straighter in his chair, awaiting the information he'd been promised. Warrick tossed a look at Nick in reassurance. This was the right thing to do. It was their only chance.

But that look was back in Nick's eyes. The look that said, _don't do this. Don't do this for me_. He knew his partner would never want someone else hurt for his sake. That despite the enmity the two showed for each other, Nick Stokes would never have it be said that he caved if it meant Kenny's death. But this was… too much.

He shook his head at Nick. "Nicky, I gotta… You can't."

Nick clenched his teeth, grinding his words out painfully between tight lips. "Don't, Rick. Don't. You know he won't let us go. Don't do this… I can..." As a new flare of pain grabbed a hold of him his words dissolved into a groan, but he held Warrick's gaze. "Don't do it, Bro."

The fire of righteous anger burned in those brown eyes and Warrick faltered in his decision. If Nick could just hold out, maybe they could still get out of this. He gave a small nod and turned back to The Voice.

Sang's face reflected his disappointment and he shook his head in mock dismay. "You hold the life of Mr. Longman more valuable than your partner's? Who is Mr. Longman to you? An individual whom you have not seen in more than a decade." He then nodded at the doctor in affirmation of her next move.

She gave a smile; she was just as happy to be able to continue her work.

"Let's try something a little different, shall we?" She cocked her head to the side to look into Nick's eyes. He allowed himself to glare back, hating the sensation she was giving him of being studied like one of Grissom's specimens under glass.

Nick would not give her any satisfaction by breaking eye contact. It was a terrible effort on his part. His right hand trembled from staying in such an unnatural position; his clenched fist was nearly impossible to move. He would be lucky if he didn't break the fingers in this hand as well. His leg still spasmed, twitching uncontrollably, all of his muscles in conflict at having the nerves manipulated by the needles.

The pain from his broken wrist slowly faded into a new throbbing, a slight distraction from the agony that consumed the entire lower half of his body. Waves of white-hot pain enveloped him over and over again. The doctor continued to admire her handiwork, a tiny smile curling her lips. Nick's breathing was rapid and heavy, his mouth open from panting so hard. He wasn't going to pass out again and the instigator and the tormented locked eyes in a fierce war of wills.

Madame Chu allowed her eyes to roam over Nick's form; she was obviously amused by the way he fought his body's response to her techniques. She watched as beads of sweat that quickly gathered at his brow began to roll down his face and over his chin to drip onto his bare heaving chest. She took one of her fingers and caressed the soaked skin. Her nail traveled over his right pec, curved over towards his side, and came to rest on his hip.

"You demonstrate stamina and endurance. Such a waste of energy that could be used for more interesting and satisfying activities," she purred.

Nick fought the black dots that lined his vision as he valiantly tried to block the assault of the combined needles' havoc on his muscular and nervous system. "Most...people who lack the necessary skills in bed... have to resort to these kinds of... tactics to get off…sweetheart," Nick grunted in between ragged breaths.

Warrick smiled at his partner's ability to insult his tormentor. Madame Chu didn't find Nick's sense of humor amusing. She grabbed his hair roughly, yanking his head up at a painful angle as she brought her face down to his.

"We'll see how much out of order your _Hun_ really is," she hissed. As the doctor let go Nick's head snapped back to its original position.

Warrick felt like a morbid spectator. The Voice and the physician exchanged silent communication as the man rifled through his box of files, digging out another folder. Madame Chu headed into a darkened area of the lair and Warrick could hear the movement of objects, almost like glass containers were being moved around. He strained to see what was going on; whatever she was seeking was connected to some further torture technique to be used against his best friend.

Warrick dragged his gaze back over to his partner. Nick looked bad. His complexion had lost all its color, and he was panting heavily from the mounting assault to his body. The tiny needles were still embedded in his flesh; he couldn't imagine how Nick was channeling what must have been an insurmountable cascade of pain. Between the heavy breathing he saw Nick's lips move. The counting had begun again. Nick was using the same technique for controlling his panic attacks on the barbaric tactics he was battling.

Nick's body shuddered uncontrollably as he cradled his injured left hand toward his stomach. He peeled open his closed eyelids and he and Warrick looked at each other. Warrick tried to send Nick an expression of thanks, at his bravery, his determination and his amazing resolve. Nick groaned, but nodded, his gaze watching the darkened area of the room.

"Maybe I can shed some light on the object of your curiosities," the Voice spoke. He pulled the remote out once more. With a press of a button, two tiny lights glowed on, the soft illumination exposing the rear section of the room.

Warrick's eyes grew large at the various tanks, aquariums, and small cages that had been hidden from view. Now all the little sounds of rustling and movement could be explained. It was like some twisted version of Grissom's office. From his confined position Warrick spotted a variety of snakes, lizards, and exotic fish. Madame Chu was peering intently at a small glass box. Warrick felt a sudden pang of fear resonate from the pit of his stomach.

He whipped his head around to see Nick's expression pale at the implications. Warrick let his jaw hang open as realization dawned on him. He spotted the Voice observing his expressions as he opened the file folder dramatically in front of him.

"It seems Mr. Stokes was admitted to the cardiac unit for the first day of his stay, while they observed his reactions to the insect bites." The Voice thumbed a few pages. "Although dehydrated, the staff's main concern was the anaphylactic shock you were suffering from. I read in a summary report that while you were inside your little coffin you were able to keep the ants from swarming under your clothes."

Sang locked eyes with Nick who stared back at him. "You were very resourceful. It wasn't until you shifted around that they found their way under your shirt and dined on your flesh. Lucky man, your team found you before you succumbed to the high levels of ant venom."

The Voice wandered over, standing between both criminalists. He looked at both men, an easy and calm expression on his countenance. "You do know that any kind of neurotoxin exposure can lead to a severe allergic reaction."

Mr. Sang raised an eyebrow and as if on signal his assistant sauntered back with a little box filled with sand and pebbles. Madame Chu set the container next to her velvet pad. Nick sat up straighter, though his defiance had lost its edge from before.

The doctor smiled coyly, picking up on the fear she detected in Nick's posture. She found another needle and licked the end of it with her tongue. She walked behind Nick, running her fingertips along his throat and up into his hair as she ruffled it playfully. She ran her delicate fingers along Nick's neck.

"The Median nerve runs along your seventh cervical and the first thoracic vertebrae. If just the right pressure is applied," she cooed before inserting her needle into the flesh, "it can have a very special reaction."

Nick hissed as the metal tore through his skin but unlike the excruciating pain from before, he felt an odd sensation snake down his right arm all the way through his palm and fingers. Nick stared at his limb as thousands of pinpricks assaulted him and then something horrifying happened. The pain quickly faded to an all encompassing numbness. His hand was still clenched into a fist, but instead of feeling the tendons and muscle fibers strain beyond normal, he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Madame Chu giggled again. "I've incapacitated your arm." She walked back in front of him as he fought against his chest strap. She took her scalpel and sliced the leather bonds that imprisoned his arm. She bent down again and peered mockingly into his face. "I've set it free." She laughed cruelly at him. "Problems?"

Warrick wanted to do anything to help. It was obvious that his partner could not move his arm. Those brown eyes were betraying his fresh panic at the newest form of immobility. Nick fought the restraints to his legs and chest, exhausting precious energy. Madame Chu's face lit up in excitement.

The Voice remained indifferent as he observed both reactions. Warrick watched him as the man suddenly covered his ear with his hand. The man appeared to be wearing a small ear piece. His assistant stopped tormenting Nick momentarily at the interruption. The Voice's calm exterior cracked slightly, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. He spoke at the floor, into what must have been a tiny microphone hidden on him. "I said not to disturb me."

Warrick watched as the Asian man became more agitated at whatever was being told to him. "Tell Mr. Braun that it is unacceptable. He knows what he needs to do." A few more moments of silence and the Voice slammed his fist onto the table. "You imbecile! I will handle this myself." He looked over at his assistant. "I have other matters to attend to. Let me know when you obtain the information I want."

The Voice made his way around the table and cast one parting shot at Warrick. "You have a choice to make, Mr. Brown. I hope for your friend's sake it is the right one."

Warrick watched as the mob boss disappeared into the shadows of the low-lit room. He turned to face the physician who eyed him coolly.

Madame Chu slipped on a leather glove and opened the lid to the small glass box. She dug her hand into it and finally found the elusive creature. "This is Buthotus, one of the rarest scorpions in Asia." The doctor held a creature about two inches in length. Two claws snapped several times at the intrusion. She held onto it by its scaly body, the black creature's eight legs wiggling in the air.

The physician held the creature between her fingers as the angry insect struggled to free itself from her grasp. "This species contains a neurotoxin which depolarizes the nervous system of the victim. The venom can cause a great deal of pain and suffering alone, but in the case of Mr. Stokes…" She looked at Warrick, then moved to fix her gaze on Nick. "It can kill you in a matter of minutes. Five, perhaps ten, before it begins to constrict your airway."

She placed the creature on Nick's bare shoulder, grabbing roughly at his left arm as it rose to wipe the creature off. She took his hand as a lover would, wrapping it up in both of her strong hands and holding it to her breasts where Nick could feel her cold heart barely beating. Her actions had barely registered on her bodily functions. He felt the first acceleration of its rhythm as she stared enrapt as the scorpion's hairy legs crawled along his numb skin. The eight-legged invertebrate began a very slow descent down Nick's arm. The CSI could barely control his ragged intake of breath, his eyes widening as he stared in horror at the poisonous beast. He struggled to pull his broken hand away from his captor, his efforts only succeeding in causing him further agony.

Warrick pulled on his bonds. "For Christ sakes, take it off of him," he beseeched.

Nick tried to make his impaired limb work as the rest of his body squirmed as the insect's tiny legs moved. His heart rocketed inside his chest; he began counting backwards at the ensuing panic. Madame Chu looked over at Warrick. "It's very agitated that I disturbed it and the poor thing is very hungry. Can't say when the last time we fed it was. This species can regulate its venom based on the size of its prey. If it stings Mr. Stokes you still have enough time for me to revive him. I am a trained doctor and I have all the necessary medicine." She cocked an eyebrow, "Is Kenny Longman worth all of his suffering?" She took a breath and leaned towards Warrick. "Is he worth your partner's life?" Warrick's mouth went dry as he watched the scorpion scurry over Nick's immobile arm.

* * *

TBC...

We'd like to thank Amy for her wonderful knowledge for this chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

-1Grissom stood quietly in front of the wrecked truck. The heavy mass of steel rested on the driver's side; the rest of the body showed dents, scratches and marks of numerous impacts from what had to be multiple collisions. The supervisor narrowed his eyes, trying to take in what exactly transpired in the outskirts of the warehouse district. All the signs pointed to some sort of high-speed chase with all the facets of an overpriced Hollywood action movie. It would take the whole team to cover the miles that made up this scene. Grissom was aware of Jim Brass's quiet observation of his posture.

Grissom stared at his kit resting by his feet and left it there as he walked over to his friend.

Jim kept any normal dry humor to himself. He just turned his head towards the other crashed vehicle. "Looks like that SUV," he said, pointing a thumb at the Jeep, "was forced into the truck trailer at a high level of speed. Can't tell if anyone was seriously injured, although I did see some blood on the passenger side windshield."

Grissom gazed at the crumpled-up car several hundred feet away and then back over to Nick's mangled truck. "One of the tires on the truck looks blown out. From what I won't know until it's back at the lab."

"No eyewitnesses to what happened out here, but a few reports came in from motorists who called in about reckless driving a few miles from here. Statements taken from several people said there were an SUV and some sort of Audi chasing a truck through several red lights. There were a couple small car crashes with minor injuries. One couple complained to the DOT about the traffic lights going and I quote, 'haywire'," Brass summarized flipping his notebook closed.

Grissom pursed his lips. "There are several skid marks in a few different locations from the south," he said pointing past the detective.

"Whoever was after our guys meant business," Jim said dryly, scanning the scattered debris that littered the empty industrial area.

If Grissom heard his comment, he didn't acknowledge it. "Tell your guys to keep this whole area cordoned off. It's going to take time to scour all this asphalt for evidence. I want security surveillance from the intersections of the witnesses' reports. I want film of the cars in pursuit. Catherine, Greg and Sara are on their way to process. A tow truck is going to haul Nick's vehicle back to the lab for me to go over."

Jim raised any eyebrow at the remark. "When's the last time you did garage duty?"

"When two of my guys became moving targets in some war," Grissom responded, as he stared at the destruction in front of him.

* * *

Grissom lay under the jacked up mass of metal staring upwards. He had gathered all the tiniest clues to tell the story of truck's last moments before it crashed. But he remained under the wreck pondering the last time he saw his two CSIs. He had been in a rush, gathering the latest results from their hit and run case. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen Nick as he stood transfixed by the sliding board. Not until Gil slid under the truck himself did it dawn on him the reason for the hesitancy in Nick's movements.

Staring at the mangled layer of the undercarriage, Grissom found how the confined space roofed by several tons of steel could be a bit overwhelming if he remained on his back long enough to contemplate it. He nibbled on his lower lip as he promised himself not to be so callous to his co-worker's behavior. Everyone had given Nick so much space lately; it was a sort of defense mechanism. The memories of last summer had been safely tucked away to help with the illusion of normality. Now both of his colleagues were out there missing, maybe injured, and were possibly being hunted. The supervisor had been so lost in thought he didn't notice two feet appear beside him.

He heard someone clear their throat and Grissom rolled back out and carefully stood up, his back protesting the movement. He grimaced as he twisted the stiff muscles as he met Catherine's serious expression.

"What did you find?" she almost demanded.

Grissom tugged his goggles down around his neck; the same question had been at the tip of his tongue. "The driver side tire was blown out by a bullet. I recovered it and sent it to ballistics with a rush. The driver side windshield had two bullet holes in it. I haven't recovered those. They might be still at the scene. I did find another one imbedded in the front grille, also sent to Bobby."

"Seems they didn't have a problem trying to kill the driver," Catherine said solemnly.

Grissom walked around to the passenger side, ignoring her remark. "There was some blood splatter by the inside window, I sent that to DNA. It looked like someone's head impacted with the glass; I can only guess it was Warrick who was hurt. The amount of blood leads me to believe that it was not serious, but I'm not discounting anything."

Catherine followed the supervisor, closely following his summary until they were both facing the destruction of the driver side. "The air bag was released. I didn't find any trace of blood, but from the way the dashboard, and the inside of the car door were pushed in, I'd say Nick was lucky to escape with just minor injuries."

Catherine suppressed a shiver. "You're making guesses already." She looked over at her longtime friend. It was not in Gil Grissom's nature to jump to conclusions without something physical backing the statements up. However, the sheer amount of destruction caused to the vehicle left very little faith that either CSI left unscathed.

Catherine fiddled with her file folder. "My news isn't any better. I was able to trace the route from where the chase began at Warrick's townhouse based on eyewitnesses' statements and all the tire tracks at the beginning to the warehouse district. We found some bits of debris belonging to one of the vehicles. I won't know if it's part of Nick's truck or the suspect autos, but there was at least one other collision in one of the alleys leading to the warehouse district. Brass got the surveillance tape over to Archie, who's looking at it now."

Grissom shook his head as he extended his pointer finger for added emphasis. "We have print powder all over Warrick's bedroom. Signs of a break in, backed up by the neighbor's account that a group of men were chasing Warrick and Nick outside." Grissom held out a second finger, "The power is out at Warrick's place, added to the fact that a collection agency from the casino called earlier looking for him."

Catherine followed his train of thought. "Chase ends at the warehouse district. No calls for help. No incoming calls from either Nick's or Warrick's phones to 911, or any of us about trouble. We have the SUV belonging to one possible set of suspects. Nick's truck is totaled and all parties are unaccounted for."

Grissom motioned towards the smashed SUV in question. "After Sara and Greg are done dropping off their findings I want them combing through the suspect vehicle for anything that can identify the driver. I scanned through it, but there's no paperwork in the glove box. I sent the sample of blood off to DNA along with what I suspect was Warrick's from Nick's truck."

Catherine nodded. "Where did they go if they escaped? And why hasn't either of them contacted us?"

"I may have the answer to that," Jim said as a way of greeting as he walked in. The Captain had both criminalists' attention.

"I went by the hospital where Tina Brown works after you told me that you couldn't reach her. She never showed up for her shift yesterday, and no one there has heard from her."

Catherine and Grissom stared at each other letting the pieces fall into place. Grissom opened his mouth to voice a theory not supported by empirical evidence. Catherine on the other hand was not so guarded. "You think someone grabbed Tina Brown?"

Jim cocked his head as the Graveyard supervisor kept quiet. "Might explain the weird disturbance at Warrick's house, and why he didn't call anyone if his wife had been threatened."

Catherine let out a small growl. "Warrick's been acting odd of late, but with his recent behavior I just discounted it. And of course Nicky's involved; those two are very close."

Grissom felt his brain run a mile a minute. The case ...no it wasn't a case, he told himself. He wasn't going to be any closer to finding Warrick or Nick by just standing around with unprovable ideas. He walked out of the garage, despite the odd stares of his companions. "Make sure that other car is processed," he left in his wake.

Grissom was a man on a mission as he steam-rolled through the lab, dodging people left and right. There was still a piece to the puzzle that needed answering. One that contained visual clues to follow. He headed to towards the AV lab where Archie sat looking stunned in his chair. The tech swiveled in his seat to meet the demanding expression of his boss.

"I just looked at every inch of film caught by the cameras at the time of the chase," he started.

Grissom signaled with his hand the need to speed up the conversation. "Go on, Archie. Tell me what you found. Every second counts."

The Asian tech seemed to slump further in his seat, almost afraid to answer him. Archie swallowed a lump. "The results are not good."

"What are they then?" Grissom pressed, his voice irritated.

Archie stood up and stuffed his hands into his lab coat. "All the tapes are blank. There's nothing to study."

Gil Grissom just gaped at the AV tech, for once speechless.

* * *

Nick felt the outlines of his vision becoming fuzzier with each passing second. His continuous gasping for air had to come under control. Hyperventilating would just cause him to lose consciousness again, and he was not going to submit to the darkness while that evil black little beast crawled over his skin. He had reached the number forty from one hundred and the receding digits were no longer helping. He quickly switched to reciting the capitals of states to take his mind off of the simultaneous blossoms of pain. If he could just combat the feeling that his lower regions were on fire, he could manage the contracting muscle twitching in the rest of his limbs.

Nick had named all the capitals of the southeast and was working his way over the east coast as the scaly arachnid's tiny little legs inched towards his hand. If he had any muscle control at all, he would flick the damn thing off. Despite the numbness, the phantom memory of traces of little prickling sensations of insects sent shivers down his spine.

Madame Chu eye's followed the creature's path along his limb and she looked over at Warrick with malice. "Have you ever watched a man suffer from respiratory distress? It's quite a fascinating experience. The patient's throat closes in and shuts off all intake of oxygen. It's like watching a fish flop all over a dry dock after being snatched from the waters."

Warrick felt the bonds cut into his flesh through the fabric of his shirt. Weaknesses. The Voice knew them all. Warrick always understood that there was a slight risk involved when Nick spent time outdoors on any particular case. He carried an epi-pen in his kit or inside his vest just in case, even though his partner had been very stubborn about it. Now the possibility of anaphylactic shock was being used as sick torture. If he told them where Kenny was, it would buy Nick time. Maybe he could lie, and give her the address to a bogus area. The doctor eyed him as he wrestled with his decision.

"Just tell us where Mr. Longman is, and all this fun can end," Madame Chu encouraged at the criminalist's obvious internal struggle. She continued to hold Nick's left hand to her bosom, rubbing her thumbs on his flesh in a parody of reassurance.

Warrick glanced over at Nick, but his friend no longer paid attention to him. His brown eyes were solely focused on the scorpion that scaled his arm, his chin resting on his chest. The sounds of his ragged breathing mixed in with a plethora of slurred words that Warrick could not make out.

"We stashed him at the old junkyard on Willmont Avenue," Warrick blurted out in desperation.

Madame Chu's eyes grew large. She squatted down so she was at eye level with Warrick, maintaining her hold on Nick's broken wrist. "Are you telling me the truth, Mr. Brown?" She took a hold of his chin and peered into green eyes.

Warrick felt his guts twist into knots. "Yes, you bitch!" he spat. He craned his neck towards his partner. "Leave him alone!" he cried out, the anguish in his voice sincere.

Nick forced himself to focus at this the new opportunity. Chu had moved towards his side, her attention focused on his partner. He eyed the scalpel lying next to the velvet pad. The table was only a few inches away in front of him. If he could wrest his hand from her grasp, he could snatch the thing.

The assistant narrowed her eyes. "Your despair for your friend is genuine, but your words are hollow. I know when someone is lying to me. Your pupil reactions give you away."

Nick ignored the scorpion as it got bored and began to ascend his arm back towards his shoulder. It was one thing to have the thing crawl along a desensitized part of his flesh, but he would be damned if he let those hairy little legs move along areas of his skin that would feel every creepy part of the scaly beast. The evil woman tightened her grip on his hand, effectively cutting off any chance at grabbing the scalpel. All Nick wanted was a chance to fight; it was against every fiber of his being to be this helpless.

Nick tried to twist around in his confinement; maybe he could jar the creature off of his body. Madame Chu arched an eyebrow and reached for another, longer needle from her black bag of doom. She jabbed the slender wire in the direction of the arachnid, giggling as she tried to annoy the creature.

"This species is known for its aggressiveness. I'm not sure how it might react to being toyed with. I'm sure it would not deal with it as well as Mr. Stokes has endured thus far," Chu threatened as she grinned at the other CSI.

Warrick felt his chair rock forward in response to his struggles to tear free of his restraints. "I told you where Kenny is. He's at the old junkyard!" he screamed, hoping if he yelled loud enough, his words would sound more convincing.

Nick tensed further as the scorpion stopped moving, obviously aggravated at having the needle poke along its armored back. He heard Warrick scream at his tormentor. Nick's heart raced, his resolve beginning to slip away as the capitals he was relaying under his breath became incoherent babble. He heard the choked sounds of fear take over as he could barely take the mounting stress.

He managed a sob filled, "Albany," through clenched teeth.

Nick felt a scream building up from the depths of his chest when a loud commotion from the darkened room distracted them all. Madame Chu whipped around at the sound of a door banging shut dropping Nick's hand to jar against the wooden chair arm.

"Freeze! We have you surrounded!" echoed in the dimly lit room.

Nick felt adrenaline surge through his veins. The next few seconds were like some cheesy slow-motion effect in one of those CGI action movies. Nick knew those were not the words of any real law enforcement officer. As his brain tried to comprehend that this was not a real rescue, it was enough of a distraction to grab the scalpel left unattended.

Nick forced his body forward as hard as he could against the leather strap. He slung his left arm forward and forced his hand to follow his commands as fingertips barely latched onto the blade. He ground his teeth together from the pain of moving the broken bones, but his fingers curled around the thin steel instrument.

Madame Chu was temporarily distracted by the threat in the room, but whirled around when she sensed movement behind her. Nick saw her cold eyes narrow as she lunged at his hand. He had no choice but to swing his arm sideways, the tip of the blade slicing backwards at the motion. The scalpel sliced the woman's upper arm and blood cast off in the air.

The woman gasped as she held onto her arm, her face betraying the shock of being assaulted. Nick didn't have time to react as a figure moved into view. The movement distracted the woman enough to turn her back to him, as he was deemed the lesser threat for the moment.

Nick took the opportunity to cut the leather bonds over his chest at an awkward angle, while trying to keep the blade from slipping and injuring himself. With just the use of one arm, he bent down to cut away the ones around his legs, groaning as the bones in his wrist and hand rubbed together painfully.

"Nick!"

He could hear Warrick call his name to help free him. Nick was momentarily stunned to see Kenny Longman step into view, wearing a UPS uniform and holding a gun pointed at the doctor. Nick didn't have time to try to make sense of the strange situation as he half limped and half stumbled around towards Warrick's chair. His body was in the throes of such chaos it was a wonder he could support his weight at all. Nick cut the arm and chest restraints of his partner and with a very shaky hand, gave the scalpel to him so he could undo the rest. Once he was relieved of the blade, Nick fell forward, unable to bear the intense levels of pain he was in any longer.

Warrick saw Nick's legs give out from under him and grabbed him by the waist with his left arm to keep him from falling, while he hastily cut his leg straps with his right. Once the leather bonds were dealt with, Warrick held on to Nick's trembling body, his eyes forward at the stand off in the shadows.

Kenny was showing a brave front with what looked to be a pistol aimed in the direction of the evil doctor. Madame Chu seemed alert but not at all nervous for having a weapon pointed at her. She continued to glance back and forth between all three men, obviously contemplating her next move. She held her arm tightly, blood dripping down to the floor from her wound. Her eyes spoke volumes. She was not afraid of the situation. She was calculating on whom to take care of first. Warrick wasn't going to give her the opportunity.

"If she moves, you pull the trigger, Man" he shouted at his friend. He could tell his boyhood chum was extremely nervous, but he was channeling the energy into some great acting. Kenny nodded, which Warrick thought was a good thing. He knew a high-pitched nervous response would give away the fear that had to be coursing through the kid's body.

Warrick wanted to stay standing in a position of authority, but he had to help his best friend. He carefully sat back down, cradling Nick's shivering form. Nick let out a pain-filled cry as he collapsed literally into his partner's lap. Warrick kept Nick from slipping to the ground with his left arm and inspected the needles protruding from his flesh. He didn't want to just pluck them out, in case there was some special way of pulling them from where they were embedded in his flesh. However, there was no time, so Warrick gave a little prayer and carefully removed each one as quickly as he dared.

Nick felt instant relief in his right hand, his fingers uncurling from their continuous state of contraction. A second later his leg stopped twitching as the muscles spasms became less intense. He groaned in pure ecstasy as the fiery explosions of pain faded in his abdomen and groin. Nick felt his face grow moist from the release. Warrick was muttering calming things, as his right arm gained some mobility and the numbness flooded with sharp pinpricks of pain. It was a welcome change from the non-existent feelings from before.

"Warrick!"

Nick heard his partner's name called out. Any reverie disappeared knowing that they needed to get the Hell out of the house. Nick knew panic when he heard it and tried to force his body into a standing position. Warrick pulled him up, draping his right arm over his shoulder and took on a lot of his dead weight. The needles may have been removed, but Nick still felt the terrible effects to his muscles and nerves. His body was in no mood to cooperate right now as it tried to cope with what happened.

"Let's move, Nicky." He heard Warrick's hushed voice though the white noise of his brain trying to shut down.

Nick felt instantly awake as he forced his mind out of the cobwebs it so desired to be swallowed up by. He got both legs to support his weight as he hobbled along, leaning on his partner as Warrick maneuvered them both away from the vile woman. Nick craned his neck to see where the scorpion had scurried off to, glad that the damn thing was no longer on his skin.

Warrick dragged his partner over towards his childhood friend, noticing for the first time in the low-lit area that Kenny Longman was holding off the evil bitch with a toy pistol.


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

If he noticed it, then Chu was sure as hell gonna notice it was a toy gun. Maneuvering the two of them around was difficult, Nick's weight still leaning heavily on him, his partner shivering with the aftereffects of his torture.

"C'mon, Bro," he muttered softly.

Careful not to cross in front of Kenny and his "weapon" Warrick lead Nick along the banks of TV screens, leery of getting anywhere near the still standing and potentially lethal doctor. He leaned Nick against the open door frame and returned to take the gun from Kenny, afraid the nervous man might give the scam away.

Holding it loosely, hoping that his larger hand might cover the fraudulent nature of the weapon better he waved it at Chu, gesturing her towards the chairs that they had recently vacated.

She gave a small smile and appeared to hesitate, then her smile broadened and she made a show of acquiescing. She glided over to the chair and eased her body gracefully down.

"Tie her up, Kenny."

Kenny moved over to the woman, reluctant to approach her as she glared angrily at him.

"G'on Kenny. Get it done!"

The small man squatted down and took the loose ends of leather and tied them around her ankles to the chair legs, repeating the process at her arms. Warrick knew that she'd be loose very quickly, but he hoped for at least a few minutes head start. He needed to find Tina and get them all the Hell outa there.

As soon as Kenny had finished the last strap Warrick pointed with his head towards the door, trusting that the smaller man would follow. He kept his arm around Nick's waist and the two of them limped out the doorway.

The next room was small and perfectly square. An ornate altar covered in a pure white cloth stood against one wall. Above it hung pictures of various Asian faces, male and female, old and recent. On the altar sat a silver pot with incense sticks of various colors protruding. Another incense stick was lit and fragrant smoke curled above the small ivory holder it rested on.

A heavy gold-framed mirror appeared on the wall exactly opposite of the altar and as they hustled past it Warrick caught their reflections in it. Nick was pale and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Warrick had dried tears coating his cheeks and Kenny…well, Kenny looked just plain ridiculous in the UPS uniform, obviously at least two sizes two big. The brown shorts hung like short pants on him and the polo hung like a tent.

An open doorway led out and they entered the next room. Also small and square. This one contained a black lacquered grand piano and more pictures and another mirror, this one framed in rococo silver, opposite the piano.

Room after room they moved, the only sound Nick's still heavy breathing in his ear and their footsteps on the cold tile. Each room much the same as the one prior. Ornately decorated in shades of red, gold, black, and silver. Pictures and mirrors. Laid out like a maze.

Warrick had no idea if they were entering or exiting the labyrinth. And his greatest fear was of the monsters that lived within these walls.

He eased up for a moment and Nick pulled back off his shoulder to stand on his own. Most of his color had returned and he appeared to be doing better. In fact, there was the game face smile.

"Kenny," Warrick whispered harshly. "You know where Tina is?"

"Nuh uh, Man. Only reason I found you is by wandering around the place for a while with this."

He pulled a small electronic box out of his ever-present knapsack. It had a long thin antennae sticking out of it. "I used it to track for electronic signals. Knew the guy had to have a central control area with Internet and satellite phone connections. Used my tracker to find it. But I got no idea how to get back out. And sorry, Bro, but I got no idea where Tina is neither."

"Nick- how you doing?" Warrick asked doubtfully. Nick gave him a nod and a smile, not quite up yet to conversation. His partner gave him an appraising look and realized no matter what, Nick was gonna suck it up and make it on his own.

"A'ight. You two keep moving. I haven't seen a window, but the first room you see with one you try maybe a couple rooms after that. Then you break out a window if you have to. I'm going to find Tina."

Nick shook his head and bent over to rest his right hand on his knee, still obviously weak. "No way, Rick. Kenny can keep going and call for help once he gets away from the house."

Nick saw the look the smaller man shot him but chose to ignore him. "Right now, I don't really give a rat's ass what you did, Kenny. But you need to call the police and you need to call them now. This is too much for us to handle. It's gone way beyond too far. We need help." The effort of the long statement left him winded and he continued to hang bent over gasping for breath.

Warrick shook his head at his partner's stubbornness, but realized that he had no idea how big the place was or where his wife was being held. He could use his partner's help, no matter how much it pained him to admit it. Plus the smaller man seemed to be able to slip in and out of places on his own. He might actually have a chance to get out and get help.

"Kenny, Nick's right. Get outa here and get help. Nick, you sure you're up for this?"

"Never better," Nick grunted out. He pulled himself back up to full height as if to prove it. He still wavered but he appeared to be holding his own.

Kenny, on the other hand, did not appear all that pleased to be on his own. "Warrick, Man. We gotta stick together. We gotta all get outa here. We can come back for the woman, Bro."

"She's not a woman- she's my _wife_, Kenny!" Warrick shouted angrily.

They were wasting time and someone was bound to find them and soon. He figured the moment their torturer got free she'd be on her way to find them, probably with reinforcements. And the only weapons they had were a toy pistol and the scalpel he had stuck in his back pocket.

Warrick strode up to his childhood friend and grabbed him by the baggy polo. "You are the one he wants. The second he gets his hands on you, all bets are off. So get your skinny ass moving and get the hell out of here. Now!"

Kenny squirmed out of his grip and dramatically smoothed his shirtfront back down. "A'ight, fine. I'll get gone." He flashed Nick another shitty look and took off out an open door to the left.

Warrick and Nick chose the door on the right which was closed. Warrick pulled the toy pistol out and held it to his side as if he and his partner were at a crime scene with a potential suspect on the premises. Fat lotta good it was gonna do them but a bluff might buy them some time. He tried the knob. It was unlocked, which didn't bode well as he assumed Tina was ensconced someplace more secure. The next room was a bedroom. By the looks of it it was Madame Chu's. A dark wood four-poster bed sat in one corner covered in a heavy brocade cover with Oriental symbols on it. A matching dark wood bureau sat in another corner, a huge framed mirror suspended above it. A small fountain trickled on a nearby table and expensive cut crystal vases covered a set of bookshelves along the third wall. Each vase contained several stalks of bamboo, the green stems curlicued and heavy with thin dagger shaped leaves.

There was no other door in the room, nor were there any windows so Warrick shut the door and they followed Kenny's path out the only other door in the room.

A noise emanated from somewhere behind them. Several loud male voices. The alert had been sounded.

The two exhausted men were now being hunted. They sped up, the rooms rushing by them in a blur of color and doorways. Room to room they ran, no sign of Kenny, and the voices behind them grew closer. Had they been able to speak Chinese they probably could have known what the men were saying. Probably something along the lines of "you go that way, I'll go this way."

Heedless now of what may lie in their path the two men stopped hesitating at closed doors. The last door Warrick straight-armed open led them out into the first open room they had encountered.

It was a gorgeous sight, had they had the time to stop and appreciate it. A koi pond covered the center of the room. A wooden bridge crossed the pond, banked on each end by live exotic plants in verdant gardens. Huge bamboo cages hung suspended from the ceiling, each containing a group of different brightly colored birds. Warrick noticed Nick's eyes staring at them avidly and it put a small smile on his face. Leave it to Nick to be staring at birds when his life was on the line.

The most beautiful prospect by far though, was the large red door at the front of the room, flanked by two sets of high curtain covered windows. The blue sky outside could be glimpsed through the gaps in the fabric.

Warrick cast a hesitant look back where they'd emerged from. His wife was still hidden within this maze.

He slumped, defeated by walls and doors and armed thugs. What was it that The Voice had said? _"The wise general does not squander his assets for pleasure. They are kept behind the lines to insure victory."_

He could only hope that the self-appointed general in this war they had stumbled into would continue to view her as an asset.

Nick had pulled his eyes from staring at the Indigo-winged macaws above him. He had just seen a documentary on them on the Discovery Channel. They were considered among the world's rarest birds; only a handful of them were believed to still remain in their native Colombia.

Before him was an even rarer sight. His partner had lost every bit of his customary swagger. He was deflated; a shell of the man he knew. Nick sighed as he realized the internal battle his partner was fighting. There was no way they could take on an unknown number of assailants, unarmed and in uncharted territory.

He put a hand on Warrick's arm and tried to catch his friend's eye which was still staring at the door they had entered.

"C'mon, Warrick. We'll come back for her."

Any protest his partner was going to make was drawn up short by the sound of voices much closer than before.

The two men made for the front door and fled out into the bright light of day.

A stone inlayed path ran in a zigzag approach to the front of the house. A massive orchard of fruit trees grew off to the left, a wide mountain stream running behind it. To the other side was a vast Oriental garden. Stone statuary poked up out of masses of brightly colored flowers, figures of Buddha among them, the smiling chubby philosopher captured in various forms and activities and manner of dress. The path continued out to a gravel drive that disappeared into a thick forest of pines. Behind the house loomed the dark forms of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Nick and Warrick had been CSIs in Vegas for over ten years. Thought they had been over every inch of land in the county. But there were no landmarks to gauge their location by. The road seemed to be their best bet and, hoping it might lead back to civilization they headed for it, running as fast as their worn out bodies would take them.

Recognizing they would be easy targets in the open area they stayed to the fringes of the woods. The sun was high in the sky; they couldn't even tell which direction they were running.

Warrick cast a look back at the quickly receding house. No sign of anyone following them yet. Wait- there. The door opened and two black clad men stepped out and scanned the area. One of them gestured to the other in their general direction and the two thugs, both carrying what had to be automatics, took off after them.

They poured on more speed, adrenaline fueling their efforts, the two men's feet pounding almost in unison as they tried to put more space between them and their pursuers. Warrick winced as he noted the pain etched on Nick's face every time his sore ankle took his weight.

They rounded a bend and there, parked at the side of the road was a UPS truck, Kenny sitting behind the wheel. Nick almost laughed with relief as his overtaxed body had just about reached its ability to carry him any further. He never thought the sight of the annoying rat would ever make him this happy.

The two men ran up to the side of the truck and pulled open the back doors. Both so out of breath that speech was not an option, Warrick waved a hand at Kenny. "Go! GO!" he managed to gasp out. He hadn't even finished grabbing the back door before it swung back open and Kenny had peeled away, leaving a dusty cloud in the air.

Nick had collapsed against a pile of packages, holding on to himself as if he might fly apart at any second. He rocked back and forth for a minute, taking in huge gulps of air. Warrick fell next to him against the back of the front seat, his chest heaving with exhaustion.

The two men's gasping quieted as they caught their breath, each looking at the other in disbelief that they had escaped relatively unscathed.

"Kenny, Man…," Warrick said between deep breaths, "…don't take this the wrong way, Bro, but why are you still here?"

"I only just made it out to the truck a little before you two. I got lost in the house. Found a back door and had to sneak around the side of the house. Dude's got a huge place, Man."

"Yeah. Yeah, that he does, Kenny."

"I was just about to take off when I saw you guys coming. Where's Tina?"

Warrick sobered at the question. When no reply seemed to be coming from his partner Nick spoke up. "We had to leave her, Kenny. But we're going back for her," he said, seeking out Warrick's face, now speaking directly to him.

Kenny turned his head back to glance at the two men. "What do ya mean we're going back? Are you crazy?"

Warrick spoke up, finally finding his voice. "We are getting help. And I'm going back. Nick, you're going to a hospital, and Kenny, you can go back to our hideout. The Voice still hasn't found it yet. Nothing saying he will. I'll get you some money or something and you can leave town."

Nick shook his head. "No way. You're not going on your own, Bro. I'm fine. We'll get Kenny hidden and head back together."

"You're not fine, Nick. Your hand is broken, and God only knows what those needles did to you. Look at you- you're shaking like a leaf."

"My hand can wait and the pain from the needles is almost gone," Nick lied. "And I'm shaking cuz it's cold. You try running around the mountains in January without a shirt on."

That did the trick. Warrick pulled a small tired smile on his face. "Yeah. You must be cold, Bro. Kenny- you got a shirt for Nick?"

Kenny cast a quick annoyed glance back at him. "What I got wouldn't fit him," he mumbled.

Nick rolled his eyes at that and shrugged. He began to dig through the piles of boxes around him.

Warrick pulled himself up to put his head facing up front next to Kenny's driver seat.

"I gotta ask, Kenny - a UPS truck? How in Hell did you arrange this? In fact, come to think of it…how in Hell did you know where we were? I thought I told you to go back to the hideout?"

"Yeah, well, I followed you guys. I … I thought maybe you were gonna call The Voice and turn me in. After you found out that your wife got taken I figured maybe you'd rat me out to get her back."

Warrick sighed and shook his head. Not that the thought hadn't crossed his mind a hundred times.

"Well, we weren't doing that, Kenny. We were headed to the lab for help. So…the truck?"

"I had this toy gun I found on the street a week or so ago. Just kinda picked it up, you know? Just in case, like. Anyway, I used the fake gun on a UPS guy that was delivering at your lab. I made him give me his clothes and I followed you guys."

"How did you keep up? I mean, it had to take time to find the UPS guy and change."

"I stuck a GPS locator on the truck that took you. I pulled up on my bike next to you guys at a light and slapped it on. I got a whole bunch of 'em in my back pack."

Warrick shook his head. The little guy continued to surprise him. Though he shouldn't have been too shocked that the tech geek would carry an assortment of electronic goodies around with him. "You got anything else we can use in that pack of yours?"

Kenny just shook his head.

Warrick cast a sideways look at the smaller man. Briefly considered grabbing the sack and searching it, but as the man had saved their asses he was going to have to give him the benefit of the doubt.

He turned back to see that Nick had begun opening various parcels. He was a bit surprised to see Mr. By the Book breaking Federal law by messing with the mail, but figuring necessity being what it was, he picked up a box and ripped it open, joining in the hunt.

He gave a small cry of discovery as he opened the fifth box he'd found. He pulled an orange colored sweatshirt out of the box and held it up in front of him. It looked big enough to fit him and Nick was a size smaller. He held the garment out to his friend who recoiled like he'd tried to hand him a live hand grenade.

"What? Here. Put this on."

"Nuh uh. No way- that's a Longhorns shirt."

Warrick turned the clothing around to look at the front. A large red bull's head covered the front of it. He rolled his eyes and shoved the shirt back at Nick.

Nick held up his hand and shook his head. He was smiling in spite of himself and Warrick grinned in return. A college rivalry was keeping the man from staying warm.

"C'mon, Fool. Take the damn shirt."

"Uh uh- better dead than the red head they say. Keep looking." He coughed and scratched at his neck while grinning at his partner.

Warrick flung the sweatshirt at his friend with a laugh. "You're being stupid, Man. Put the damn shirt on."

Nick was now laughing, his face turning bright red and Warrick found himself chuckling. Then noticed that Nick still hadn't moved to put the shirt on.

"C'mon, Nick. Don't be an idiot. I'm not opening any more packages for you. Nick. C'mon, Bro. It's not that funny …Nick. Nick?"

It was then that he realized Nick wasn't laughing. He was drowning.

* * *

tbc... 


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

"What the hell?…" Warrick stared in horror at Nick's rapidly reddening face. His mind scrambled to see a reason for his partner's sudden crisis. He grabbed Nick's right arm and pulled hard. There, on the meat of his triceps was an angry red welt about the size of a silver dollar. The damn scorpion had stung him and the poor guy had never felt it.

Nick pulled his arm back and pushed back away against the inside wall of the van. His heels dug into the metal flooring for purchase as his hand began to claw at his throat. His nails were leaving reddening scratches on his flesh. His eyes were screwed shut in concentration and his mouth gaped wide open as he swallowed gulps of air.

Warrick had heard of animals chewing their own limbs off to escape a hunter's trap. He had never been able to imagine the desperation necessary to do such a thing. Watching Nick tearing at his flesh made Warrick realize that his partner would gladly rip a hole through his chest if it meant getting oxygen to his lungs.

"Nick! Nick, listen to me, Bro. Do you have your pen on you?"

His partner ignored him so Warrick scooted over and started checking Nick's belt for the leather-bound case that usually rode there. Nothing. Sang must have had his goons take it off of him.

Nick's boots were pounding a sickening tattoo as he repeatedly kicked at the metal flooring. The noise echoed in the cavernous interior of the utility van.

"Fuck! Kenny! Kenny! How far are we from civilization?"

"Hour or so. Why? What's the problem?"

"That bastard put a scorpion on Nick and it stung him. He can't breathe, Kenny!"

"A scorp… Jesus." Kenny gave a long low whistle. "Got nothing for you, Man. I'm driving as fast as I can but this is a fuckin' UPS truck and this road is too rough."

Warrick ran through his options. What was it that bitch had said? _If it stings Mr. Stokes you still have enough time for me to revive him. I am a trained doctor and I have all the necessary medicine._

"Shit! Damn it! Why didn't I grab her fucking bag?"

"What bag, Bro?"

"The doctor's bag. The bitch said she had medicine in it. Damn!"

"Was it the leather doctor's bag on the table?" Kenny asked in a small voice.

"Yeah… yeah! It was - why?"

"I, uh … I took it."

"You what? You took her bag? Well, where the Hell is it?"

"In my backpack. Thought maybe she might have some drugs in it I could sell. For get outa town money. You know."

Warrick flashed the man an angry glare. For once the little man's propensity for thievery was gonna help.

He grabbed up the ratty old backpack and ripped it open frantically. There, nestled in amongst a hodge-podge of electronic gizmos and other curiosities sat the doctor's leather bag. He pulled it out and rifled through it, pulling out a familiar looking device.

It was similar to the epi-pen he had seen Nick carry and he ran through the instructions he'd memorized months before.

"Hang on, Bro! I gotcha. I gotcha covered." He just kept repeating that phrase, hoping for it to be true as he snapped open the plastic case. The injector unwrapped, he crawled over the corrugated floor on his knees to crouch next to his partner.

Nick's struggles were becoming feebler as oxygen deprivation began setting in. His face was an alarming shade of burgundy, leaving him looking like a newborn baby crying itself to sleep.

"Here we go, buddy, just hang on." Warrick reared the pen back and slammed the small needle home into the meat of Nick's denim clad outer thigh.

He sat back on his haunches to wait for Nick's breathing to ease. His stubborn partner had never really talked about the epi-pens he had to carry or the silver medallion currently riding his still heaving chest. Warrick had taken it upon himself to sit Tina down and have her tell him exactly what anaphylaxis looked like and how to treat it. After getting all the details he'd made printed out copies and surreptitiously handed them out to all their team members in case Nick was ever stung while out with one of them and too out of it to help himself. While he knew it woulda driven his partner nuts to know he had done it he was never gladder that he'd gone behind his friend's back than he was at that moment.

Because of his "worrying" as Nick would have referred to it, he knew the epinephrine didn't work immediately. He could only hope that Nick had the five to ten minutes it would take to kick in.

He sat and waited, his eyes flicking back and forth between the minute hand making its agonizingly slow circuit around the face of his watch and Nick's continued, albeit fading, attempts to bring air into his oxygen-starved body.

Seven minutes of eternity later his watchful gaze noted an easing of Nick's struggling. Hoping that it wasn't just his partner succumbing to hypoxia he sidled back over next to him and grabbed Nick's sweat covered right hand, fumbling for a pulse at his wrist. It raced at hummingbird rate, which Warrick took as a good sign. He knew Nick's resting pulse rate must have averaged around 70 what with the amount of time the guy spent at the gym. The pulse he was feeling right now ran up well over a hundred. It meant the epinephrine was doing its job.

The other sign the medication was working was seeing Nick's hands drop at his sides in exhaustion. The clawing at his throat had left raw red streaks that ran down his neck onto his chest. A thin sheen of perspiration covered his whole body.

When he saw Nick shiver he realized the sweating had just made the man even colder. Unless it was shock or the aftereffects of the poisoning. That was the rub. He knew Nick reacted to the bite but the toxin from the scorpion still ran through his veins and he didn't have a fucking clue what that would do.

He picked up the forgotten Longhorns sweatshirt and put a hand on Nick's shoulder, giving it a light shake. His partner opened reddened eyes and nodded at him as he continued to inhale heavily, obviously relishing the new ease to his breathing.

Warrick waited, shirt in hand until Nick sat up and stuck a shaky hand out to grab the hated garment. He mustered enough energy to curl his lip at the emblem on the front, then gave half a chuckle as he pulled it into his lap.

"Fuck, Nicky. That was… how you feeling?"

Nick just nodded at him, not yet willing to waste precious oxygen. He pushed himself to lean heavily against a pile of cardboard packages, lifting his quivering hand to wipe at his face. The simple effort winded him and his hand dropped back down immediately.

"You need the shirt on, Bro. You want a hand?"

Stubborn man that he was, his partner held the hand back up and shook his head with a small smile.

"Got it," he rasped out.

He took a few more deep breaths, then lifted the sweatshirt over his head. When he eased his broken left hand through the sleeve he grimaced but managed to get the clothing on, collapsing back in exhaustion.

As much as Warrick felt relief at seeing his partner breathing easier, he knew it wouldn't last long. While Nick rested he returned back to the medical bag to see what other medication it contained. Two more of the plastic-tubed epi-pens and a whole lot of sharp pointy things. Nothing else.

The goal of Nick's torturer was obviously to revive him temporarily, only to inflict more pain and suffering.

Nick usually carried Benadryl with him in the same case as his epinephrine. He knew the whole case had been taken back at Sang's place. He also knew that without the Benadryl all this fresh oxygen Nick had been enjoying would be leaving him within a half hour.

This was further confirmed as he saw Nick's hand run along the back and side of his belt feeling for the leather case.

"It's gone, Bud. They took it," Warrick said shortly.

Nick nodded, as he was half expecting this. He laid his head back on the side of the jouncing van, his mind still working sluggishly. But still working.

"You still have those cold pills?" he croaked out.

"Yeah…why?…Ohh… hold on a sec." Warrick rummaged through his pockets, counting on the goons not relieving him of something as innocuous as some cold tablets. His hand brushed against crinkly plastic and he pulled out the foil blister pack. Still six pills left. He flipped it over to read the printing on the foil, the tiny lettering hard to make out in the relative darkness of the back of the van. He tilted it into the light from the windshield and his eyes read the prettiest word he could think of. Diphenhydramine. For runny noses and watery eyes.

"It has Benadryl in it, Bro," he said happily. His thumbs pushed two pills out and handed them to his partner who swallowed them like a man who hadn't eaten in a week.

The van hit another rut and the two men bounced and jostled about, nothing to grab onto but loose cardboard packages.

He turned his head as Kenny spoke up from the driver's seat. "Hey, Ricky. I gotta slow down, Man. This road is for shit. And there's a steep ravine on one side of us."

Warrick knew that while they had been seen taking off on foot it wouldn't take The Voice long to figure out that Kenny had made it up here in some kind of vehicle. Their head start was so insignificant, and the bad guys were probably driving jeeps or other vehicles better suited for this rough terrain.

"Gotta keep the pedal to the metal, Kenny. Just watch it, okay? You're knocking us all around back here."

Kenny just gave an angry shake of his head and bent over the steering wheel, the shorter man having difficulty seeing out over the hood of the truck to the rutted road rapidly disappearing under them.

Warrick glared at the back of Kenny's head then returned to scope out how his partner was doing. The timing was going to be tricky. The epi shot would last about half an hour but the antihistamines took almost that long to take effect. He pulled the doctor's bag next to him to keep the other set of pens close at hand.

Nick for his part was still leaned up against the pile of boxes, his eyes closed but his breathing easier. Warrick was about to join him in some relaxation when Nick suddenly grabbed his stomach and rolled over onto his side pulling his knees in towards his chest.

"Think I'm getting car sick," he croaked out as his face gained a green cast.

"No, I don't think so, Bud. Sorry, but I think its just the epinephrine. Tina said…"

Nick cracked open an eye and stared at him. "Tina said what?"

_Shit. _"Tina said one of the side effects of the shots was nausea."

"And this came up over dinner one night?" Nick asked, simultaneously raising an eyebrow and grimacing at his upset stomach.

"Not exactly."

"Oh yeah? When exactly?"

"Look, Nick. If you weren't so damn stubborn about this… Every time I asked you about it you clammed up and told me not to worry. So I asked Tina one day. She gave me the whole rundown on what to do and what to expect. Damn good thing I did it too, Bro, otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation," he said with a pointed look meant to diffuse the situation.

Nick just put up a hand and nodded his head, too sick to fight, and not too stupid to realize his friend was right. "Yeah, yeah…so what other fun things do I have to look forward to?"

"Nothin', Man. Just relax. Besides, pretty soon we'll be -"

There was a loud bang from under the van and the vehicle lurched heavily to one side. Kenny fought valiantly with the wheel as the two CSIs tumbled about in the back. The truck came to a shuddering stop, the dust from the gravel road a cloud obscuring the windshield. As the grit settled they could see that the van was now perpendicular across the road, the nose mere inches from the ravine.

"God damn it! I told you guys we couldn't go that fast," Kenny swore. He continued to mumble expletives as he opened the driver door and gingerly hopped out so as not to tumble over the edge.

The two in the back groaned as they pulled their bodies back up into sitting position. Being thrown about on a corrugated steel floor was no picnic under the best conditions, and with the various aches and pains and breaks they each had it took them a moment to catch their breaths.

Warrick winced at the fresh pain in his shoulder and scrambled to his hands and knees. He released the back door and jumped down to join Kenny at the front of the van.

Sure enough, from bad to worse. The front passenger side wheel was bent. They must have hit a big rut and broken a tie rod.

Warrick planted his hands on his hips and stared at the mangled metal. He was running a hand over his face, his expression one of pure defeat when he heard something behind him. Nick had come down from out of the back of the van. He leaned against the side, his left hand cradled around his stomach. He was still a bit green around the gills, his nausea no doubt amplified by the state of their current situation.

"Snapped a tie rod, huh? Looks like we're hoofin' it from here," he grunted out.

Warrick shook his head. Where could they go? All around them stood a thick forest, the only hint of civilization the rough road they stood in. Sang's men would be coming by any time now to take them back to …

Nick eased himself up off the side of the vehicle and began to wander a bit down the road. His eye caught on something and he stepped hesitantly off to the side to poke at some greenery.

Warrick noted Nick had rounded a small bend just out of sight and began to walk over towards him. Hell of a time to have the sick guy go traipsing off. Or wind up in a ravine.

He rounded the bend to find Nick squatted down at the side of the road. He was peeling back a handful of long green vine-like plants. Curious, Warrick took a few steps closer, his boots catching awkwardly on the ruts in the road.

"Whatcha doin there, Bro?"

"Think I found a path. Look."

Nick had cleared an area that showed what looked like two grooves in the ground. Hardly a road, but it did look as though vehicles had passed that way many times over the years. The road had not been used in some time as evidenced by the thick growth covering it. But not too long - the vines weren't woody. Hunting season would have been in November, and it was now January. Looked like the users of the road had skipped on killing Bambi this year.

It was their only option. Lord knows where the path would take them but they had to get off the main road and fast. Like now.

Warrick gave Nick a small shrug and headed back to where Kenny sat disconsolately on the bumper of the truck, head in hand, an elbow resting on his knee.

Warrick climbed back in the back of the truck and grabbed the doctor's bag and Kenny's knapsack. He got back out and closed up the doors.

"C'mon, Kenny. Gimme a hand."

Kenny looked up at him, surprise and suspicion on his face.

"With what?" he asked slowly.

Warrick exhaled sharply. "Just come over here, Kenny."

The smaller man got up with a small huff and walked around to join Warrick at the back of the truck. Nick had come back from investigating their path and joined them at the back of the truck. It was evident by his actions that he knew exactly what Warrick had planned.

Warrick planted his good shoulder against the back of the truck and gestured for Kenny to join him.

"Nick? You wanna go throw it in neutral?"

Nick nodded and hurried over to the driver cab and climbed in to switch gears. He got back out and joined them at the back, placing his good hand on the rear bumper. Warrick gave a one two three count and the three men shoved as hard as they could against the rear of the vehicle. It rolled an inch, then stopped. Rolling the van on the broken wheel was near on to impossible. But they were so close. They reared back and gave another mighty shove. The truck rolled forward another few inches, the front end teetering over the brink. Another good push and the vehicle's weight carried it over the edge to go crashing down the side of the ravine. Warrick sidled up to the edge and looked down. Thankfully, the UPS truck was that famous brown color and it blended in rather well, swallowed up as it was by the trees that grew from the bottom. If you didn't know where to look you would probably never see it. Which, of course, was the plan.

Kenny turned to him and held a hand out for his backpack. Warrick rolled his eyes at him and handed it over silently.

He turned to look for his partner. Nick was bent over at he waist, hand resting on one knee holding himself up. Warrick walked over to lay a hand on his shoulder. Nick looked up and flashed him a sickly smile. "I'm good. Just gimme a sec."

Warrick sighed. That's pretty much all they had. But as promised, Nick righted himself and took a deep breath. Gave a quick nod and held a hand out to have Warrick lead the way.

The path was definitely an old road. Further in the ruts grew deeper and were identifiable as those left by the passage of a vehicle over many years. There were no signs. No gates. No clue as to who used the road in the past. But they were now, an hour after losing the van, at least a couple miles or so in from the original road.

There had been no sound but for their feet clomping on the hard packed earth and Nick's ragged breathing. His nausea hadn't passed and he'd already stopped once, running off a few feet into the woods to be sick. He came back, wiping a shaky hand across his mouth. Never said a word about it. Just rejoined the group and kept up as best as he could, limping gamely along.

The going was rough; vines catching at their feet, the uneven ground making them trip and lurch as they made their way.

While the trip in the van had been a pretty steady descent from the higher elevation of Sang's place, this was at least a reasonably level course. Of course that also meant that they were no longer leaving the mountains where presumably civilization began.

Kenny for his part never left off from the string of expletives he'd been muttering ever since the breakdown. It was almost as if he truly blamed the other two for the tie rod breaking. Especially Nick. The Texan had left the path again to throw up and Kenny cast a disparaging glance at his back. Warrick closed his eyes as he listened to the harsh and painful- sounding heaving coming from off in the brush. When he saw the look Kenny was throwing Nick he walked over and grabbed him roughly by the arm.

"What is your problem?" he whispered acidly in the smaller man's ear.

Kenny pulled away from Warrick's grasp and brought a hand up to his mouth to gnaw on a hangnail. "Dude's slowin us up."

Warrick seethed, understanding that Kenny had no idea what the men had gone through back in that house, but disgusted by the lack of compassion the man was showing.

He started to give the little man an earful when he heard Nick come trudging out of the woods behind him.

He tossed Nick what he hoped was a reassuring smile and walked over to him. "You need a break, Nick?"

"Nope. Keep going," Nick rasped out. His throat was raw from vomiting and his earlier crisis. But he knew they couldn't stop. Especially not on his account. The nausea had eased a bit after his last purge and he plastered on a small grin and began gimping along the path once more.

Warrick grit his teeth in all-out frustration; everything was against them. They found an obstacle at every direction, but what choice did they have? Warrick followed his partner, quickly reaching his side and walking at a slower gait to allow the man to keep up. He looked back at Kenny, his boyhood friend, and source of this carnival of horrors. He forced back his dark thoughts and the three of them pressed down the path for a while longer.

Nick's pace was growing slower, to the point that Kenny was now in the lead. Warrick was about to suggest that they all take a break when Kenny stopped in his tracks and looked back at the others with glee in his eyes.

"There's some kind of cabin around the bend!"

Warrick and Nick exchanged looks of relief, but each of them felt a bit guarded. Nick nodded to his friend, not wanting to waste any more energy on speaking. Warrick knew what was on his mind.

"Hey, Kenny! Wait up, Man!"

Warrick corralled the impatient man and told him to wait outside while he and Nick inspected the dilapidated shelter. It looked like a hunting cabin that had not been used in at least a season or more. The wild growth of the forest overran the path leading up to it; the wooden planks of the small front landing creaked with their footfalls. Nick checked out the back area, inspecting the old fashioned outhouse. Typical small building, seat made of a plank with a hole in it. There was a hand pump sticking out the ground the owners had put in for fresh water. The sound of burbling water coming from further in the trees was evidence of a stream running nearby. After checking for any possible unseen enemies, he came back around to the front where Kenny was picking at the lock.

Nick raised his eyebrows in question at Warrick, who rolled his eyes and shook his head in bemusement. The little pack rat was using his skills for something. After some jiggling around the door opened, and Warrick elbowed the smaller man out of the way, still very suspicious. He cautiously entered the darkened room, searching for a light source.

Nick followed behind him hugging the walls as each of them inspected the tiny, empty room. A small kitchen area was to the left, a stack of old cracked stoneware piled on the counter; a squat woodburning stove took up the center of the room, a stack of logs piled next to it. Another open door lead to a second room where two shabby cots made up the sleeping quarters. A set of rusty fold up chairs leaned against one wall. Satisfied that there was no one lying in wait for them, both men searched the shelter for a light source. Warrick found a rusted lantern, empty of oil. Next to it on the shelf lay a few large candles and some simple candleholders. He picked them up and brought them over towards a small card table. There was a small amount of light from the outside, but with all the surrounding trees camouflaging the cabin, most of the sun's rays were lost in the layers of brush and tree limbs.

Warrick found a match and lit a few of the candles, adjusting the sticks of wax in front of him. Kenny began to pace around the confines of the spartan room and kept his eye out the front window. Nick dragged one of the cots over to the side of the room and practically collapsed on to it.

Warrick moved over towards his friend, noting his eyes were closed tightly. His partner was still sweating and he noticed Nick's arms twitch occasionally. Warrick could write a list of possible causes for the light trembling, ranging from possible nerve damage from the needles to the adrenaline treatment or a reaction to the toxin of the scorpion sting. Warrick bit his lip and rested his hand on Nick's shoulder for a moment, then slid it over to his carotid to monitor his pulse.

It was still beating fast, but had slowed down a bit. Warrick's lips twitched at what that portended. Nick opened his eyes, "I'm okay. Just trying to rest a sec."

Warrick patted his shoulder, and regretted his next words knowing how exhausted his partner must be feeling. "You can't really rest, Bro. Got to keep your blood pumping, your natural adrenaline to fight off the allergic reaction. We have to wait a little longer before you can take any more cold meds since we have a limited supply."

Nick slowly sat up from his resting position, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know," he chuckled. "Maybe I can just do... jumping jacks," he said in between two shaky breaths.

Warrick knew that Nick's breathing was already showing signs of becoming more labored. He calculated how many more cold tablets remained and frowned at the amount needed for their crude method of trying to combat the respiratory complications. Nick kept his head bowed, his raspier intake of breath only fueling Warrick's sense of impending panic. He began to look around the room trying to see if anything would aid in their situation.

There was very little to speak of. No stacks of supplies. No clothing. He found a toolbox with some rusty fishing tackle and a serrated knife for carving up game or fish but nothing that could really be called a weapon. Not even a first aid kit. Warrick scanned every corner until his eyes rested on Kenny who continued to stare out the window, glancing back at the inactivity in the room. Warrick eyed his backpack, his face lighting up with an idea.

Warrick's long strides brought him over to his friend who shrank back at the intensity he saw in the taller man.

"Hand me your inhaler, Kenny."

Kenny's eyes grew large as his arm wrapped around his precious knapsack in a protective manner. "Why? It's mine," he whined.

Annoyed, Warrick gestured with his hand for the desired item. "I'm not going to waste time jawing with ya, Man. Hand it over."

With a pout, Kenny dug through his bag, muttering complaints under his breath the entire time. He handed Warrick over the medication and then stood up and stalked off into the other room. Warrick didn't pay him any more attention and wandered over to Nick. His friend followed him with his gaze as he walked back over to join him.

Nick narrowed his eyes when Warrick sat down next to him, reading the instructions on the asthma mediation. "It's safe to take this; it'll open up your airways until you can take some more cold pills. Then you can put off your jumping jacks for a little while," Warrick said as he mustered up a smile.

Nick had his left wrist snugged up along his stomach, and his right hand pressed over his sternum as his breathing continued to worsen. He took the inhaler with an expression of gratitude, pressed down on the  
device, and inhaled a dose of the medication. He sat there a moment as his lungs began to expand and the pressure eased up a bit inside his chest. He still felt queasy, but he tried to concentrate on one issue at a time.

Warrick watched as Nick's body relaxed a bit and his face lost that pinched look. "Now you can lay down for a few. This stuff is going to make you pretty lethargic."

Nick shook his head. "I'll take a ten minute…power nap, and then we'll decide how to get Tina back."

Warrick's mouth opened to say something, but Nick's strong grip on his forearm stopped him. He saw a set of determined eyes. "We're gonna get her back. I've survived worse things than this. Not gonna let some stupid bug bite keep me down."

Warrick smiled, genuinely moved by his partner's words. He held his hand up in a fist and Nick tapped his own on top of it in their usual gesture of friendship. "All right, Man. But get your beauty rest while you  
can. Got to get up and running soon enough."

Warrick got up to give Nick a few moments to himself. He looked in the direction of Kenny's room and for once didn't have the energy to go talk to the little man. He'd give him an earful after he got some fresh air. He was tired of the "pity me" attitude Kenny walked around with. Warrick was going to give him a lesson in real friendship.

Warrick walked out on to the porch, surveying the trees in front of him. He scanned the afternoon trying to decide the next course of action. He wasn't sure how far away they were from any town. The trees and surrounding mountains framed everything from view. No landmark gave him a clue as to where they were hidden. Warrick knew that the next thing they needed to do was locate a hospital. Maybe he could scout out another cabin, one with power and a phone. Or maybe there was a ranger's station somewhere near by to get  
help.

He'd get Nick the needed medical attention and then go find Tina. His wife. God, how petrified she must be. What torturous horrors was she being treated to? He walked a few feet out and began to pace in front of the cabin when he heard a familiar shrilling noise. His eyes widened in disbelief as he recognized the sound of his cell phone. He still had it. Why had Sang had not taken it? Warrick cursed himself for being so caught  
up in the crisis that he hadn't even realized the thing was still in his pocket. Maybe he could dial 911 and get an ambulance up here...wherever here was. He patted down his jeans and fished out the ringing device. He looked at the number on the caller ID and his heart leapt.

"Grissom?"

"Not exactly, Mr. Brown. Although it was enjoyable to hear the hope in your voice. I take my small pleasures where I can. I must say, you have truly surprised me, Mr. Brown. I did not think you capable of such dishonor."

Warrick felt his face flush with the heat of his anger. "You son of a bitch! You know nothing about honor you cowardly little man," he seethed as he continued to pace.

"You and your friend disgraced Madame Chu with your escape. She has lost much face with me and will receive severe punishment for her disgraceful actions. I see that Kenny continues to be an annoying thorn in my side. One that I want removed immediately."

"That bitch can fry in Hell," Warrick growled. "You underestimated us. It's time to end this stupid game and let Tina go."

Warrick almost crushed the phone when that familiar laughter echoed in his ears.

"Mr. Brown. Do you not get it? I still hold all the cards in this game. I have your wife and now your other Achilles heel is slowly fading away. How much longer do you think Mr. Stokes can survive without proper medical attention?"

Warrick froze in mid step, his face draining of color.

"Tut, tut. I know everything. When will you realize that? Madame Chu saw the scorpion inflict its sting on your friend and while you had that little thief tie her up she observed the welt on Mr. Stokes' arm. She knew you would not have much time."

Warrick instinctively looked into the window of the cabin to see his partner resting on the cot.

"You know I monitor all outgoing calls. I will now have all my ears on every line to every hospital and every emergency call made from this local area. You will not get any medical attention for your friend or I will kill your wife."

Warrick closed his eyes. It was the first time Sang had threatened to harm Tina. He walked back up to the front of the cabin to lean against the outer wall.

"I have lost patience with all of you, Mr. Brown. You have a choice to make. Go ahead and use your cell phone and contact a hospital. You do and I will let you listen to your wife's screams as she dies. Bring Kenny and the files to me and your precious Tina will be released and your friend won't slowly suffocate. Choose wisely."

Warrick's response was cut off. He stared at his cell phone, the words "call ended." blinked back at him. He felt his back slide down the wall behind him, his breath hitching in his throat as his world spiraled out of control around him. He felt moisture at the corners of his eyes and the phone dropped from his hand as he pulled his knees up to his chest. He finally succumbed to the pressure, smothered by the crushing weight of the events of the day and the life-altering decisions he still had yet to make.

tbc...

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

Gil Grissom loved mysteries, the little intricate parts of a puzzle in logic that formed a cohesive answer. Riddles that concerned the welfare of two of his co-workers and friends became a damning contest of wills. His normal appetite for the game was replaced by a focus fueled by worry. He'd much rather have a paint-by-numbers obstacle to tackle then this mind-boggling set of inconsistent clues whose trails were overgrown by weeds, twists, and dead ends.

Catherine entered his office without knocking, her frazzled hair and meek expression just one of many in the bustling lab. She flipped though the contents of a folder not waiting for an invitation to speak.

"I've got a boatload of wacky financial problems with Warrick's current credit records," she blurted out.

Grissom let out a small breath and sat back in his chair as he waited for more jigsaw pieces that didn't seem to fit no matter how hard he tried to cram them together.

Catherine saw his posture and returned to her information. "In the last twenty-four hours Warrick's checking and savings accounts have been frozen for insufficient funds. Of course there are no records of withdrawals or transfers, and the bank manager has no explanation for the missing money. He can't unfreeze the account until an investigation can explain what happened."

Grissom raised and eyebrow and accepted the financial document handed to him. Catherine continued to shuffle papers in her hands. "His car and loan payments are behind and according to these statements are three months in the red. All his credit cards are maxed out, but the people I spoke to at Visa and MasterCard can't give me a listing of expenditures that could have caused him to go over his limit." She finished, holding her hands out in in irritation.

Grissom rolled back in his chair as he folded his arms across his chest. He stared off into space gathering his thoughts, before turning his attention to his colleague. "We traced the plates to the wrecked Cherokee to an import-export company located in Vegas. There are plenty of written records. Tax statements, business license, and advertisements in the trades, but there is no actual physical address."

Catherine rested a hip along the edge of the supervisor's desk. "No warehouse or anything?"

Grissom's eyes twinkled. "No buildings to store inventory and no place for their list of employees to punch a time clock."

Catherine tapped her pristine nails. "It's a front. For whom?"

The supervisor tilted his head. "I've had Brass on it, and all we can come up with is a Mr. Deng Tuo Rong."

Catherine noticed the sarcastic tone. "You think the name is fake?"

Grissom narrowed his eyes. "_Tou_ means to push or control and _Rong_ means  
glory or power. Deng is just a formal surname."

"You're an expert on Chinese root languages now?"

Grissom shrugged and gave a small smile. Then gave it up. "No, but Tom Wu  
in our Asian gang division is. I ran the name by him when it came up. Whoever is after Warrick and Nick seems preoccupied with controlling symbols of power. Warrick's financial problems, the missing footage from the security cameras, the import company that's only real on paper. I don't think they would simply leave their identity on their phony business ledger."

"Well whoever it is, he's very good at being evasive."

Catherine and Grissom both looked expectantly at Archie's voice as it interrupted their discussion. The tech shuffled his feet for a moment before the supervisor ushered him in with the bending of his fingers to enter.

Archie brought in a box and placed the contents onto the desk. He pulled out a small stack of VHS and digital tapes. "I went back over the tapes from those security cameras and did an electronic scan of the signal. Someone with a very powerful computer hacked into the main database and erased the footage digitally. I also analyzed the timing of the traffic lights from the intersections from the eyewitness statements of that chase."

Grissom stood up to join Catherine. "I'm not in the mood for drama right now. What did you find out?"

Archie stared down, slightly intimidated, but stood up straighter at the attention of both superiors. "There was some sort of signal sent to alter the timing of the lights. Someone from a remote computer switched the lights to red."

"And who the Hell can do that? Can you trace it?" Catherine asked in rapid succession.

Archie felt slightly smaller and stepped back a little. "No, I can't. Not without monitoring the specific computer that is linked to the camera while the person logs in to change it."

Grissom stepped away from the desk and wandered over to the door and back towards his coworkers, the gears in his head turning. "Whoever is involved would need an extremely powerful network of computers."

Archie nodded. "Maybe a Cray computer system could do that. But they would require some sort of military clearance. I mean they were used by the government and sold privately. But trying to track down those types of records is impossible."

"Who has that kind of pull then?" Catherine asked, not really expecting an answer.

Archie stood there while the silence lingered in the room. Clearing his throat earned him two pairs of eyes seeking answers. "Well, I do know of someone. Um, I mean he's kind of an urban myth."

Catherine sighed. "We got nuthin' else. So spill it, please."

Archie looked back and forth between both criminalists. "I had a few cases over the past couple years that I've done research on for the gang unit. There's an Asian mob that's been involved in Vegas sports betting for the past five years, maybe longer."

"Okay, I've heard of Asian gangs, but any particular one? " Catherine cut in with impatience.

Grissom glared at her, but nodded for Archie to continue.

"There's this guy called The Voice." Archie crossed his arms in front of him. "He's been rumored to be this huge control freak. Sort of this 'knows all, sees all' type of guy. Researches anyone who seems a threat and then finds the weakness of any competitors and uses it against them. He's supposedly got all sorts of connections, hired techno-wizards to run all of his operations remotely. Real freaky paranoid type, but no one's ever really seen him."

Grissom took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "We're after a phantom then."

"I have a buddy of mine who runs a website. I might 'unofficially' be able to get his real name by tracking down the bills of sales for one of these Cray computers. There are only about twenty total sold in the States, and, if we find his name, maybe we can track down an address."

"I thought you said finding that kind of information would be impossible?" Grissom asked.

Archie shrugged. "There are all kinds of information gatherers. I know a few friends who get kind of bored and find tracking that kind of information as a challenge."

Catherine didn't hide a smile. "Ya know, I think Nick and I worked a case where Warrick mentioned a guy named The Voice. He controlled all the runners in town for sports bookies."

Grissom began to pull out his cell phone while he spoke to the tech. "Go contact your friends. I'll have Brass connect with the gang unit. Maybe see if we can uncover the guy who owns that import operation. Maybe we'll get the same name."

The tech hurried out of the office in a whirlwind of excitement. Grissom was busy dialing his cell. Catherine could tell she had been silently dismissed as she recognized Grissom in one of his modes. She would do a little digging on her own and hoped that her boys were not in too much trouble.

* * *

Warrick huddled along the wall as he tried to gather his wits after such an emotional outburst. He would NOT make a choice.

How on God's green earth could he ever view the whole thing simply as black and white? It wasn't just 'some' decision. No, the problem had to have some other resolution. He would not allow Nick to just succumb to shock and his wife was not going to be murdered by a cowardly mob boss. Warrick was a scientist, he just needed to analyze the variables and find an answer.

Grim reality infused his beaten soul and Warrick mustered enough faith to get back on his feet. He pocketed the phone and tried to open the door quietly to the cabin and not disturb the scarce few minutes Nick had to rest.

Warrick crept cautiously towards the cot, checking for the steady rise and fall of Nick's chest. Once he was reassured that his buddy's breathing was somewhat under control for now, he walked the few steps towards the evil doctor's bag. He took out one of the epi-pens and silently placed it within Nick's reach next to his side and slid the other one into his own pocket for safe protection. He grabbed the black leather case and stalked into the  
smaller room of the building. Upon entering the door it was crystal clear to the room's occupant that something bad was about to go down.

Kenny looked up from the other cot, instantly sitting up straighter. He quivered at the pissed off expression of his one time buddy. Warrick entered the room and closed the door almost all the way. Kenny swallowed a lump in his throat. Those fierce green eyes quickly diffused any kind of jab or insult.

Warrick's glare never let up. Kenny's squirms gave him only a fraction of satisfaction. He hefted the black bag onto the small cot and pulled out one of the long needles, twirling the slender instrument with a sneer of disgust. The tool's menace was even more horrifying in the nearly dark room. Kenny's back hit the wall with a small thud; a few whimpers escaped his throat as hands scrambled for an inhaler that was in the other room.

"Do you know what true terror is, Kenny?"

Kenny didn't answer. Warrick sat down heavily on the crude bed, never taking his eyes off his childhood chum. "Terror is when you're strapped to a chair unable to move while a vile woman slams needles into nerves to inflict pain. Terror is when you have to sit back and watch, helpless as one of your best friends is tortured," Warrick practically growled at the man.

Kenny could barely keep still, constantly fooling around with one of his braids. "I didn't do anything, Man. I'm... I'm sorry you guys were taken... I'm..."

"That's the problem, Kenny. It stopped being about you. It's all about the three of us. For once stop being so damn selfish and think about what's goin' on around you," Warrick seethed in a clipped whisper.

Kenny stopped fiddling and sucked in a breath; his eyes held the slightest defiance. "I'm not the one who dragged your cop friend with us, Man."

Warrick almost recoiled from the statement. He didn't know if Kenny meant it as a backhanded insult. "No, you didn't. I pulled him into this mess and now we're all going to find a way out of it."

"Dude should have minded his own business," he muttered.

Warrick glared at him.

Kenny began to gain more confidence by every second, scowling again. "I didn't have anyone else to turn to, Man. All those years ago we stuck together. Just us versus them. No one else would ever stand up to the kids at school, all those stupid teachers too blind to see what was goin' on. But we had each other. I pulled you out of enough jams. This is more than about payback, Bro. You're the only one I thought I could count on."

Warrick let out a deep sigh. "Friends stick together. I know all about ...that." Warrick licked his dried out lips. "Do you know what The Voice wanted from Nick? Did you ever ask yourself that?"

Kenny began to dig his fingers into the cot, his eyes bouncing all over the spartan room; he could not bear to look at Warrick directly. "No," he said in a soft voice.

Warrick pointed his finger at Kenny's chest. "He wanted to know where _you _were. How to find _you_. All I had to was drop a dime on _you_. All Nick had to do was just give them the low down, but he didn't!"

Warrick slapped the long needle into the other man's hand. "The Voice had some doctor ram needle after needle in, and Nick sat there and took it. Out of loyalty to me. To keep Tina safe and to keep your sorry ass safe as well. He didn't roll over in order to keep some selfish little weasel from getting killed. He didn't know you from Adam, Dawg! Yet he wasn't gonna be the reason for someone else's suffering."

Warrick grabbed Kenny by both shoulders and shook him a little to land his point home. "Ya got that, Man. Do you understand yet?"

Kenny seemed to crack from the pressure and wiggled away, bolting off the bed to began his characteristic pacing. "I don't wear a halo, Man. I'm sorry. I didn't know this was gonna happen, didn't know any of it was going to hit the fan like this." Kenny began to wipe at his eyes with his sleeve, mumbling to himself.

Warrick let out an angry sigh of frustration. He shuffled over to his friend, placing an arm on his shoulder. "We're going to get out of this jam, Bro. We always have." Warrick looked into terrified eyes. "Okay?" he asked in a calmer voice.

Kenny choked back a sniffle and nodded. "What's the matter with him anyway?" he asked, pointing his finger towards the crack in the door.

Warrick shook his head. Kenny still regarded Nick as little more than an annoyance. "He's been poisoned. He's suffering from a severe allergic reaction and if he doesn't get help soon..." Warrick let his voice trail off.

Kenny eyes grew slightly bigger at the implications and folded his arms over his scrawny chest. "He can keep my inhaler," he said with a heavy, reluctant sigh.

The CSI almost laughed at the statement. In the pack rat's mind that must have been a really big deal.

Both men re-entered the other room and Warrick wandered over to Nick and gently shook him by the shoulder to wake him up. It took a few minutes while Nick acclimated himself; he tiredly slid his legs over to the side of the cot while he slowly sat up. He remained slouched over as if the effort of being upright was too much of a burden.

Nick kept his hands in his lap in a fruitless endeavor to keep the slight trembling to a minimum. His eyes remained closed as he fought to shake off the effects of the medication and the toxin in his veins.

Warrick squatted down and hid his deep worry. The clock was ticking and none of them were any closer to finding a solution out of the snare they were trapped in. Nick's movements were sluggish as he opened up bloodshot eyes and attempted to pass off a small smile for his usual game expression.

"Nice nap," he rasped.

Warrick patted his knee. "You can't lay around all day, buddy. We need to keep your adrenaline flowing...it's no good if you're too comfortable."

Nick raised an eyebrow, "Yeah this place is the Hilton compared to your last hideout. We're moving on up in the world," he quipped.

"You think you can get up and move around?" Warrick encouraged.

Nick's aches and pains were having a cumulative effect. His skin was a sickly looking white and he looked as if he might collapse at any given moment. With his balance slightly off, Nick wavered as he stood, his knees almost buckling under his weight. Warrick was instantly next to him as he stood on wobbly legs. "Hmmm, not sure about my usual workout routine," he joked.

Nick sucked in a sharp breath after a moment, his hand grabbing at his chest. Before Warrick could react, he held it out to signal him to hold off. Nick felt the tightness slowly diminish. It was difficult to adjust to his body's reactions to the toxin in his system. His airway was in a tug of war over how far it could stay open. Insect venom scrambled for control and battled the lingering effects of increased adrenaline and the receding amounts of antihistamine. Once the room stopped spinning slightly, Nick was able to focus on movement.

Warrick stood tensely by as his partner began pacing a circle in the confines of the small room. Warrick checked his watch as he estimated when the next time Nick would have to take the next dose of cold tablets. The dwindling amount of pills was another loud voice fighting for his attention. The dreaded conversation from earlier and the deadly choice he was being forced to make almost drowned out any other coherent thought.

Nick's uneven gait as he criss-crossed the room made Warrick's heart sink. His best friend was falling apart in front of him, and yet he just stood there like a dumb ass as he searched for some miracle answer. The silence of the room was only punctuated by the sounds of Nick's boots. His partner's pace stopped at he bent down to rub at his shins.

Warrick broke up the dread-filled mood. "You okay?"

Nick gave him a lopsided grin as if to say 'you kidding me?' Warrick suppressed an almost hysterical type snicker. Scrunching up his face, it gave him the opportunity to ask what had been in the back of his mind. "Your ankle still sore?'

He knew it was dumb question, but he didn't know why that little thing was still nagging at him.

"Nah. My feet are tingling; damn weird sensations running up my leg." Nick continued to massage the area to alleviate some of the discomfort as his friend pressed on with a senseless topic he just didn't want to deal with at the moment.

"You really fell off my porch? I don't remember."

Nick shook his head as he tried to dodge the question. This only caused Warrick to press the issue. It was at least a distraction to his current horrid dilemma. "Why so evasive?"

Warrick's question didn't mean to carry an accusatory tone...but it did anyway.

The words slipped out of his mouth long before his brain had a chance to process what he was saying. Nick shot him a dagger look. The Texan held his jaw tightly as his eyes darted around the room. He began stalking back and forth, his irritation clearly obvious by the way he continued to ignore the last question. Warrick felt the need to keep testing the limits; if he had thought about it, he would have realized the ulterior motive of trying to force a needless argument. His mind had ways of dealing with stress and creating conflict was one of them.

Warrick moved forward to cut off Nick's circuit in the room, effectively blocking his path. "Nick."

His partner looked at him incredulously, "Yes, I stumbled off your porch the other night. I twisted it then. No big deal, Man."

Warrick frowned, not only from Nick's more hostile tone, but also from not really recalling when that happened. "How in hell did you just... fall?"

Nick shook his head. "This is really stupid," he mumbled to himself.

Warrick heard him regardless. "Why are ya being so shady about it then?"

That must have triggered something. Nick stood up straighter; his brown eyes became darker as he stared at him. When he spoke his tone was low, "Shady? Shady is keeping your bud in the dark with secret phone calls and dodging simple questions. Shady is hiding out a childhood friend from mob kingpins who send out goon squads to your house."

Nick took a step forward with each sentence, his voice becoming scratchier, his face a stone mask of hurt and anger. "Shady is lying straight to your best friend's face and then acting like an ass about it when he just wants to try to understand what the Hell is goin' on," Nick said in a harsh whisper.

Warrick took a closer step, his face mere inches away from Nick. He looked down on him for a moment, using his height unconsciously as unfair advantage. "I tried to keep you away from all of this, Nick. I didn't want you involved. It was none of your concern."

Nick's throat was parched, but he kept his voice strong and steady. "None of my concern? Sometimes you have to confront people about things they don't want to accept in order to help them, Man."

Warrick gnawed on his lower lip. "Is that how you dealt with me when you came back to the Lab? Talk about not admitting to others that you still have problems to work out, Bro. You've buried shit so deep you're not even aware it's there."

Nick eyes grew darker if that was even possible, but didn't have a retort. The ferocity of his point had hit its mark, and Warrick knew he had stepped past the invisible line that Nick had built around him ever since his abduction. A protective barrier so secure that Nick did not know of its existence.

"You've avoided so many things about what you've been going through that I had to go do my own research about allergic reactions to insect bites you might encounter in the field. Lord knows you were never going to talk about it."

Nick swallowed; the veins in his throat protruded out. He licked his lips, still struggling with an answer. Instead of addressing a topic that had been labeled 'hands off' his next sentence took Warrick by surprise.

"You shoved me out of the way when you were trying to get rid of me when I wanted to clear the air. I twisted my ankle then."

Words escaped him as Warrick opened his mouth to respond; the word 'sorry' just didn't seem to cut it.

Nick backed down, his eyes downcast. "You didn't notice...its not like you did it on purpose," Nick added as an afterthought. "It wasn't a big deal."

Nick shuffled past his friend, placing his hand along the wall for support as he pushed his way towards the cot. Clearly winded from the exchange he ungracefully dropped onto it, cradling his hurt left hand along his belly, and flexing his right one over and over again.

Warrick looked to the ceiling and squeezed his eyes shut. He never recalled pushing Nick out of the way; he had just wanted to deal with his own problems without any fuss. It would have been better to come clean then; he should have figured Nick would never leave it alone. He looked in the corner to see Kenny staring at him. The pack rat had miraculously kept his trap closed during the small conversation. He ducked his head down to avoid any further eye contact.

Warrick pulled out the blister pack of cold medicine and pushed out two more caplets. He handed them wordlessly to his friend. Nick accepted them in silence and swallowed them dry. The odd tremble to Nick's right arm was back, despite his efforts of clenching and unclenching his fist.

Warrick sat numbly on the ratty cot. Choice A sat in the corner staring at the floor, probably hoping it would swallow him up. Choice B tried to put on a brave front as Warrick picked fights with him to help squash the increasing cacophony of voices in his head. Kenny's, Tina's, and Nick's were mixed together inside the maelstrom of his heavy and conflicted conscience.

* * *

TBC… 


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

As he rounded the corner with an armful of books Grissom drew up at an odd scene in the hallway. A tall muscular man who looked like he stepped off the cover of _Men's Health _stood in the hall, arms crossed in front of his chest, jaw set in anger. Jim Brass was standing next to the man with his battered leather notebook in hand and a small smirk on his face. What added to the surreal vision was the getup the man was wearing. A pair of army surplus camouflage pants, barely pulled up over his burly frame, the bottoms of the legs a full four inches from the ground. His top was an olive drab hooded sweatshirt, straining to the full extent of the fabric, taut around his chest, the sleeves ending midway down his forearms.

It was obvious that Brass was attempting to hide the humor he found in the man's apparel, fighting to keep a serious demeanor as the man in front of him fumed, his face flushed and his lower jaw beginning to work back and forth.

"I'm telling you. That was the guy's description. He had a gun. What was I supposed to do?"

"Okay. So he was African American. About five six?" Another small twitch at Jim's mouth. "And about a hundred pounds. Long braids. Thick plastic-rimmed glasses. That it?"

"The backpack. I told you he had a ratty old olive drab backpack too."

"Yeah…backpack. Like kids take to school, yeah?"

The man sighed in frustration. "Yeah. Like that. He made me give him my clothes and he left these behind. And he took the damn truck."

Jim slapped the notebook shut and gave the man his best approximation of sincerity. "You call this in to your office yet?"

The man rolled his head on his shoulders and tightened his arms across his chest. "No. I'll call it in. They're gonna have my head losing all that cargo," he mumbled between clenched teeth.

"Well, like you said, he had a gun, right? What were you going to do?"

The man looked like he was fighting an internal battle; he fidgeted and worked his bottom lip between pearly white teeth. He rolled his eyes and finally bent down to bring his model perfect face closer to Jim. Grissom couldn't hear what the man said and his head was turned so he couldn't make out his lips' movement.

Jim raised eyebrows in surprise and nodded. "You know that has to go in the report, right?"

The man sighed explosively, his arms dropping to his sides in obvious defeat. He nodded silently and grabbed at his pants which were threatening to sag off of him as they were only precariously perched about his hips.

Jim gave the man a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and sent him off with a uniform who was waiting nearby.

Grissom waited until the man cleared the hall and walked up to where Jim had remained standing after taking his notebook back out and jotting a quick addendum to his previous notes.

The entomologist raised a questioning eyebrow at his friend. "Do I dare ask?"

"Yeah," Brass said with a small chuckle. "I gotta put out an APB on Urkel."

Grissom tilted his head, his brow wrinkling in confusion.

Jim just sighed, realizing there was no way Grissom was going to get a cheesy television analogy. "Never mind," he said with a small shake of his head. "He's a UPS driver. Was coming by the Lab for a pickup when he got 'hijacked'," he said, his fingers making the air quotes.

Grissom's face drew in concern at hearing of the potential loss of important Lab deliveries. Jim saw the look on his face and held up a hand to stop him. "I already checked the log he had. He was picking up and had no deliveries for us today."

Grissom sighed with relief, shifting the heavy load of books in his arms and beginning to regret stopping to talk.

"Anyway," Jim continued, "the guy tells me the dude who held him up was half his size, almost literally. Held a gun on him, made him switch clothes, and the thief took the truck. Then he tells me at the end as the hijacker was fumbling with the gun he got a closer look at it. He said the gun was a fake. Poor shmuck is gonna have to explain how he lost an entire UPS truck to a pipsqueak with a toy."

"A gun's a gun, Jim," Grissom said, rather predictably. Of course he saw little humor in it.

"Except when it isn't, Gil. So, what's with all the heavy reading?" He asked nodding his head at Grissom's book laden arms. "_Philosophies of the Far East_. Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_. And …_Feng Shooey_?" he read awkwardly. "What is all this stuff for?"

"Archie says the man we think is responsible for our current situation with Warrick and Nick is heavy into Eastern ideology. He describes him as paranoid, obsessed with power brokering and luck. I'm hoping that I can gain insight, get into this guy's head. It's all we've got while Archie works on trying to get an ID on him."

"Looks complicated and obscure. Right up your alley, Gil," Jim said with a wan smile. "And you're right about not having much else to work with. My friends in the gang unit said this guy is a phantom. They've been chasing their tails for years and never got close. You really think our AV tech has a shot?" he asked, his face reflecting his obvious doubt.

"Archie claims to have friends in low places …maybe the key is to have connections to the same underground this guy operates in. If you don't mind…" he said, shrugging his armload of books, "I'm going to take these back to the office."

"Yeah, sure. Have fun," Jim said with raised eyebrows and a nod of his head.

* * *

An hour later Grissom raised his head in response to a light knock on his doorframe. Archie stood bouncing on the balls of his feet, a hesitant smile on his face. At a nod the AV tech let himself into the office and plopped down in the plastic chair in front of the supervisor's desk. His eyes fell on the various books spread out open over Grissom's desk. "A little light reading, huh?"

Grissom pulled his glasses off and sat back in his chair with a sigh, his fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "You say this man…The Voice…he believes in this stuff?"

"Oh, yeah. Everything I get back on him, anyone who has had any kind of contact with him says he's heavily into the Eastern culture of Luck and Honor and Power. It's kind of hard to escape it. I mean, in China, it's beat into you from the time you're born."

Grissom looked at his AV tech. He knew so little about the man. He had trusted him with some of the most sensitive of information, especially that relating to the incident of the previous summer, and he knew the man to be smart, fast, and generally quiet. At least around him… he seemed a bit more laid back with the younger members of the team, cracking jokes and sharing meals, but Grissom always had the impression that he and Catherine scared the younger man a bit. Not that he thought of himself as a scary man in any way … but Archie always seemed reticent in his presence. The work they had been conducting together had forced them into close contact on several occasions, but the tech didn't volunteer much, and small talk was out of the question.

Grissom realized he might have an asset here he hadn't fully tapped into.

"Do you know anything about this stuff, Archie?"

The Asian fidgeted in his seat a bit. "Well, yeah. Like I said, kinda hard not to."

"Truthfully, I wasn't sure, Archie. I mean, your last name is Johnson. You could have been adopted …"

At this the lab tech smiled. "My old man's name back in China was Li Xian Sen. He changed it to Lee Johnson when he and my mom came over before I was born. They named me Archie after the comic book character. _An all-American boy," _he said with a Chinese accent. "Not much they could do about the red hair and freckles, though," he said ruefully. "Anyway, my dad said he wanted me to grow up drinking Coca-Cola and eating Cheerios, not rice. My mom though, she's more old school. She taught me everything from the old country. Instilled all her superstitions in me," he said with a small laugh.

Grissom pointed at the books. "Why would a man as obviously intelligent as The Voice is be swayed by such superstitions?"

Archie sighed and sat back in his chair with a thoughtful look on his face. A moment later he sat forward and leaned his arms on the desk. "See, in China, nothing is gained by hard work or intelligence. It's all Luck. Now you can affect Luck by doing a huge variety of things. That's the success that people get credit for. Doing what they need to do to get the Luck."

Grissom shook his head, the concept so foreign to him.

Archie gamely continued. "See, here in the States we look at a successful guy and we usually think, he must be smart, or he probably works hard, or see what a college education gets you. Things like that. In China, people would see him as a man who did everything the right way to be lucky. He wore the right clothes, said the right things, took the right paths. And bad luck is getting caught by the Evil Spirits. Usually spirits of our ancestors who were wronged or dishonored in some way. I know it sounds crazy, but it is ingrained in you from the time your parents begin to speak to you as an infant. The way the nursery is set up. The color of the toys you play with, and the clothes you're dressed in."

Seeing that his supervisor had relaxed in his chair and his face maintained an interested air he took a breath and plunged onward. He picked up the top book on Grissom's pile. "Like this," he said, pointing his finger at the title. "_Feng Shui." _He pronounced it the proper way, of course, as _fung shway_, causing Grissom to give a small smile at his memory of how Brass had mangled it so badly earlier.

"_Feng shui _is a combination of the words for wind and water. It deals with how you place things in your environment in order to gain and keep luck, and to block the evil spirits from messing with it. For instance, the path to your home should be erratic, like winding or a zigzag pattern so the ghosts of your dishonored ancestors wandering the path can't find your home. Mirrors are important. The ghosts can get lost in them, plus you can use them to reflect your Luck back into the room." He saw his supervisor's eyebrows raise with incredulity.

Archie laughed. "There is no way a Westerner could ever really understand it. I mean, in China, it even affects how they drive. Do you know why Chinese drivers have such a bad reputation?"

Grissom shook his head slowly. "I always thought it was just a cultural bias."

Archie chuckled but shook his head. "No, they really are horrible drivers. But it's because of the stuff we're talking about. In China, drivers will deliberately cut other traffic off in an attempt to fool the evil spirits following them. They actually hope that the other cars whizzing by them will sever the hold the ghosts have on the vehicle."

Grissom couldn't help but give a small smile at the image, but he could tell the lab tech was telling the truth.

"Very interesting. Thank you, Archie. If you don't mind I'd like to pick your brain a bit further. You know, Francis Bacon said, '_Ipsa scientia potestas est_. Knowledge is itself power.' This man brokers in power, so we fight him with any knowledge we can get."

Archie placed a suitably impressed expression on his face. "Speaking of knowledge, I think I may have name to go with The Voice."

* * *

If there was one thing the little guy wasn't good at it was sitting still. He'd gotten up from his seat on the remaining cot in the back room six times now, each time clomping through the front room to head outside, letting the door bang shut behind him. As he returned from his last foray outside Warrick got up from the folding chair he'd opened for himself and cut the man off in mid stride with a firm grip on his upper arm. Casting a quick glance at his partner recumbent on the cot nearby he pulled Kenny back out front, grabbing the door and easing it shut behind them before wheeling on his childhood friend.

"You're making me crazy with all the pacing, Kenny! And for such a little guy you sure make a hell of a lot of noise. Can't you see Nick is trying to catch some sleep?"

"Dude ain't sleeping. I can see that as well as anyone. And I'm going nuts just sitting here. You know The Voice is gonna find us here. I say we hightail it down the mountain. Can't be more than a few miles. We can make it down before dark if we leave now."

Warrick shook his head. "I'm not leaving Tina. She's up at that house and I'm going back for her. Besides, Nick would never make it."

"Ricky, listen to me," Kenny said, his pitch increasing as he grew more insistent. "I say we leave your friend and head down the mountain. We can hop a bus, get the Hell outa Dodge. Tina's lost, Man. There's no way you're getting her back. But we can make it. We can still get clear." He looked away for a moment, then added almost as an afterthought, "We can send someone back for them."

Warrick blinked, stunned by the words he heard coming out of the man's mouth. He knew Kenny had never met Tina, and had a tough time forming social connections, but he never thought he'd hear such coldness, such lack of empathy.

"Are you listening to yourself, Man?" he asked incredulously. "Leave Tina? Tina's _lost_? You know I've cut you a lot of slack 'til now, Man, but you are seriously mistaken if you think you're gonna get me to abandon my wife and friend. Sorely mistaken."

Kenny began to pace back and forth, poking at his glasses on his face, then dropping his hand to gnaw on a hangnail. "Do you know how cell phones work, Ricky?"

The question took Warrick by surprise. "Yeah," he replied slowly, wondering where this was heading. "Why?"

"How many times this dude call you since we've been on the mountain?"

"Twice. Again. Why?"

"See up this far in the mountains we shouldn't have cell service. The phone working means the man has his own cell tower. When you trace a cell call you usually have to narrow down which cell it's taking place in, then triangulate from there. There is only one cell here, Bro. That means each time he called you he got another point to triangulate from. One more call in or out will let him know exactly where we are. He probably already has a general vicinity. One thing he definitely knows is that we never made it off the mountain."

Warrick processed the info the tech geek was providing, but he had already known the calls were being traced. What he hadn't realized was even the short calls were helping The Voice track them down.

He had been toying with the notion of calling 911 in spite of the danger, especially as he noted Nick's condition becoming excruciatingly more precarious by the hour. The cold meds contained only a tiny portion of the needed antihistamine, plus his system was still teeming with the scorpion toxin. Now he knew that one avenue was no longer available.

He was distracted by the sound of a creak from the porch behind him. He turned to see the object of his current thoughts in mid stride stop at the attention he had garnered. He wondered how much of the previous conversation his partner had caught.

"Hey, just wanted some fresh air."

"'Sall right, Bro." He turned to aim two narrowed green eyes at Kenny. "We were just done talking."

Kenny gave a harrumph and tossed one of his usual icy glares at Nick, shouldering past him to go storming back into the cabin, letting the door bang loudly as it shut. Nick stepped awkwardly aside and stumbled briefly, regaining his footing to lean on the rough wooden railing. He shook his head in disgust and stepped down to sit on the edge, legs stretched out in front of him and his arms wrapped around himself against the cold. He stared out at the sky that seeped through the branches of the surrounding trees.

"It'll be getting dark in a couple hours," Nick observed.

Warrick shuffled over to join him on the stoop, and sat down, bent over and rubbing his hands together. Here where the sun's feeble winter rays never made it through the thick foliage it was even colder than down in the valley.

"So what were you and the Geek Wonder talking about, or is that off limits, too?"

Warrick closed his eyes in defeat. Looked back at his friend to make an attempt at apologizing when he saw a smile on Nick's face.

"Yeah. Big plans. I was gonna send Kenny out for pizza."

"I'd rather have Mexican. No, a big thick steak, blood pooling on the plate next to a loaded baked potato. You?"

"My Gram's fried chicken. Gonna have to see if I can find her recipe and give it to Tina. So… do I dare ask?"

"I'm fine. Starved, cold, and sore. But fine."

Warrick knew there was no way the man was fine but it was his fallback answer. The pat answer that came out every time anyone showed him the least bit of concern. Man could be bleeding out the eyes and he'd wipe 'em off and say he was fine.

He gave a small snort in response. "You're not fine. God, I hate it when you brush me off, Man. Would it kill you to just 'fess up? To let someone in?"

Nick gave him another teasing smile. "Talk about the pot and the kettle, Bro."

Warrick shook his head, returning the smile in spite of himself. "You're not gonna worm your way outa discussing this, Nick. All jokes aside, I need to know how you're doing. For real."

Nick sat up straighter and appeared to give it earnest thought. In reality he was scrambling for a way to lie to his best friend, the man who knew him best, probably even better than family. His partner was usually pretty laid back, but when he got all intense and in Nick's face it was tougher than Hell to put anything past him. Best bet was to lie by omission. A little bit of truth and some stellar acting and he might pass the test.

"All right. I feel like shit. Is that what you wanted to hear? My hand hurts. My chest hurts. Hell, my whole body hurts. And I still feel like I'm gonna yak any minute," he said, figuring there was no way to hide that since he was probably going to be puking by the end of this little discussion.

Warrick nodded, wanting to believe that was all there was to it. Knew he wasn't getting the full story but neither of them had the strength or the time to be fighting over it.

But he wouldn't be a friend if he didn't say it.

"You know this is only temporary, right?" he asked quietly.

Nick looked away, pretending to be distracted by a bird in a nearby tree. "Yeah. I know. I'll just have to make do 'til we get Tina and get off this God forsaken mountain."

His partner sighed. "Oh, yeah? And how do you think we do that, Bro?"

"Let's go talk to MacGyver. See what he has in his bag of tricks." With that he slapped his hand on Warrick's knee, then used the taller man to push off from to get up, pleased with how steady he was able to make himself stand.

His partner groaned as he got up from the stoop, as if showing him he wasn't afraid to let the world know how badly everything hurt. He worked a hand inside his shirt and rubbed at his sore shoulder, which had stiffened into a throbbing ache.

Nick just rolled his eyes and pulled the door to the cabin open and held it for Warrick to enter. He knew if they wanted to get into Kenny's bag of goodies that Warrick would be the only one with a ghost of a chance at it.

Warrick entered the cabin and peered into the room. The sun was lower in the sky now and the late afternoon rays failed to bring much illumination to the gloomy room. He blew on his hands and eyed the squat woodburning stove with a baleful eye. Knew there was no chance of firing it up and risking the smoke being seen.

Kenny sat on what Warrick already thought of as Nick's cot and scrambled up at their entrance. Nibbled on a nail as he waited to see what the two CSIs were going to do next.

"Hey, Kenny. Let's see the bag."

Kenny pulled it in closer with a suspicious look but with two pairs of eyes staring down at him he grunted and dropped the bag on the floor, pushing it over with his foot.

Warrick sighed and bent to pick up the bag and pulled it over to the cot where Nick had sat back down. He folded himself Indian style on the floor and opened up the knapsack, pulling stuff out and piling it around him.

The littler man's eyes grew big as he saw what Warrick was doing. "Hey, Man! There's dust all over the floor. That stuff can't get dirty! Here. Let me."

Kenny dropped down next to Warrick and pulled the bag into his lap. He picked up the first item Warrick had pulled from the bag, a plastic box with wires hanging off it. He made a show of blowing gently at it and placing it to balance on his leg. The next item was another electronic gizmo of unknown provenance. Several mystifying objects later he stopped. "That's it."

Warrick sighed in frustration. "All of it, Kenny."

Kenny shook his head. "The rest is just personal stuff."

Warrick grabbed the bag up and shoved his hand in, pulling out two more items. The first was a photo in a cheap plastic cover. Warrick pulled the picture up and turned it so the image could be seen better in the darkness of the cabin. It was a picture of Kenny's mom. It was taken when she was young. Before the drugs and the string of abusive men in her life had ravaged her looks. It occurred to Warrick that he had no idea if Kenny's mom was still living. If she had cleaned up, or if she was in jail.

He mumbled an apology to Kenny and shoved the picture back in the bag. The other item was a compact disc.

"These the files The Voice is looking for, Kenny?" Warrick asked, waving it in his friend's face.

The smaller man reached out and snatched it away, shoving it back in the bag and scrambling back up to stalk away. In the process he knocked off all the equipment he had been so concerned about keeping off the floor.

"Kenny! If those are the files then we can use them. Maybe if I give the man the files I can get him to let Tina go."

"No way, Man. These files are five years work. I've got viruses and decryption programs on there that each took years to develop. They're all I have left, Ricky." This last was said with a plaintive whine and he clutched the bag to him like a child would his woobie.

Warrick was about to respond when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Nick had leaned over from his seat on the cot and was shaking his head at him.

"Let it go, Warrick. Let's see if we can figure out what this crap is. We may not need the files."

Warrick nodded and cast a glance at Kenny who plopped down in the folding chair Warrick had been using earlier. He stared at the two men pawing through his stuff.

Nick bent over slowly and picked up one of the plastic boxes. It was about the size of a deck of cards and had wires protruding from it. "This looks like a relay box. Like to bypass a signal of some kind. Phone or electric I think."

"Phone." The barely spoken grunt came from the small man sitting in the chair. "It allows landline phone calls to be diverted. It encodes analog to digital and sends it out wireless so the data stream can be captured and decoded."

Nick shook his head and gave a low whistle. The guy knew his tech stuff.

Encouraged by Kenny's help Nick held up another piece of equipment. "What's this?"

"That's what I used to find the room where you guys were … where he had you guys. It tracks electronic signals."

Nick raised his eyebrows and looked at Warrick. Put it next to him on the cot.

Warrick picked up the next piece. "Okay, show off. What about this thing?"

Kenny was warming to his subject, relishing the chance he was being given to boast a bit. "That's another type of bypass. It's used on fiber optic lines carrying a heavier load of data. Like computer modem lines and cable TV."

He got out of his chair and dropped back down to the floor, picking up a fourth piece of equipment. "This is the GPS tracker and this," he said, picking up one of two or three little devices, "is a GPS signal transponder." He put them back down on the floor and moved on to the next items.

He pushed aside some cables and picked up a piece that looked like a small handheld computer game.

"What is that? A Blackberry?"

"No way, Dawg. Those things cost big bucks. Naw, I threw this together. It's like a Blackberry …sort of. But I've got over a gigabyte of memory on that thing," he said with pride.

It was Warrick's turn to whistle. He was truly impressed.

"Kenny, Man. How did you manage to get so much memory in such a small package? The electronics companies would kill for this thing."

Kenny looked at him uneasily and put it back in the bag. "Just made it for myself, Ricky. You really think people would pay for this thing?"

Warrick smiled at him. "Yeah, Kenny, I do."

He held his hands out over the stuff surrounding them. "So, Kenny, could any of this stuff help us get back into the house?"

"Yeah… Maybe. I could find the main entry point for his phone and electric conduits. Could probably use the bypass to cut his connection to the outside world temporarily. But dude's got a cell tower I can't do anything with, and he probably has WiFi access from it."

"But you could at least make it tougher for him inside, right?" Warrick encouraged.

"Yeah. Yeah I could probably disable the security system. But, Ricky, you saw the guys he's got in that place. And that freaky chick. What are you gonna do about them?"

Warrick looked up as he realized he hadn't heard anything from Nick in several minutes. His partner had his eyes closed and his mouth was gaping open as he struggled to breathe.

"Fuck! Nick, why didn't you…?" He trailed off with his admonitions and fumbled for the epi-pen he'd left beside the cot. It had rolled under the metal frame and he scrambled on the floor to find it. His fingers brushed the plastic case and he snatched it up, snapped it open and rapped it hard against Nick's outer thigh.

Nick had felt the tightness increasing as he sat there watching the two men go through the equipment. He had made himself ignore it and it had worked for a while. Just as he had himself fooled into thinking he could control it, his lungs began to fill and he felt the stirrings of panic in the animal part of his brain. He couldn't get the air to move through his constricted airway. He felt his face flush and his hand rose to pull at the collar of his sweatshirt. Anything to ease the pressure.

He could hear Warrick's voice but it was distorted as if he was underwater. He felt the impact of his partner's fist on his leg and knew that Warrick had used the second pen. He struggled to maintain his composure, to wait out the time the medication needed to work, but his hand still reflexively clawed at his throat. He pushed back with his feet, the cot dragging on the floor, stopping only when the legs became stuck in the space between the rough floorboards.

It was another five minutes before he was able to feel the beginning of the epinephrine's effect. Warrick could tell because the hand finally dropped from where it had been wrenching on the collar of his shirt. He glanced briefly at Kenny. The smaller man had not really witnessed Nick's earlier crisis in the van, his attention solely on the road in front of them. Kenny looked at Warrick, his eyes large with shock. "Damn, Ricky. That was some scary shit. That what happened in the van? That cuz of the scorpion?"

Warrick sighed. The man was finally gonna get it. And he only had to see Nick clawing at his throat for air to have it finally sink in.

"Yeah, Kenny." He turned his head and spoke softly to his friend. "He's dying, Bro"

With those two words, Kenny Longman saw an expression of utmost sadness, that was slowly replaced by a sense of determination that the pack rat had not seen since the whole fiasco began.

* * *

tbc... 


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

Warrick didn't have time to ponder what was said to Kenny. Those appalling words he'd been so scared to utter had caused his chum to look back and forth between the two of them in abject fear. Kenny began pacing again, staring at the man on the cot as if he was some dangerous animal ready to take a bite out of him. Warrick didn't care. He was too focused on Nick who was wheezing heavily, his right hand settled on his chest. The raspy intakes of breath sounded painful, but were a stark difference from minutes earlier when his friend was unable to get a real lungful of oxygen past his constricted airway.

Nick lay exhausted, his eyes squeezed shut, face fading to a sunburned flush instead of a scary shade of beet red. He sounded like someone still caught up in the throes of a severe asthma attack, but still...this was progress. Warrick only prayed that it would continue to ease as the epinephrine coursed through his friend's veins. The relief would be short-lived and the most recent cold tablets had lasted an even shorter time than before, giving Nick only a little over an hour of reprieve. Warrick studied the remaining meds and pushed a single one out, waiting for Nick to recover enough to swallow it.

Nick lay sprawled out on the dingy cot. His limbs were too heavy to lift and his chest felt like an elephant was sitting on it. Every intake of air was a struggle. It felt like he had taken a jab to the throat and then a tennis ball had been shoved down it. As the tightness decreased his heart felt like it was pounding against his sternum; the discomfort was tolerable, but the palpitations were more than a bit disconcerting.

Warrick gently shook Nick's shoulder as dazed brown eyes had a hard time focusing on him. Warrick hated rhetorical questions, but asked anyway. "You feelin' better?" He couldn't hide how his voice choked on the last syllable.

Nick opened his mouth to answer him, but closed it immediately as another wave of nausea began to rear its ugly head. Warrick noticed how his friend's pallor took on the all too familiar green shade and shot a look over at Kenny.

"Hey, open that door outside, will ya?"

Instead of complaining Kenny did as he was told as Warwick grabbed Nick by both shoulders. "Come on, buddy. Let me help you up."

Nick didn't protest as he was pulled into a sitting position and allowed Warrick to guide him to his feet. Nick fumbled with his weak right arm and draped it around his partner's shoulder as he leaned heavily on him. Warrick practically dragged him towards the outside.

The fresh air was almost a shock, causing sharp little pinpricks to assail his overly taxed lungs. The change to being upright only increased his stomach's need for rebellion and he quickly sank to his knees, expelling only bile, since there was nothing left in his belly from before. Nick puked his guts out, sucking in terrible rasps of air in between. Warrick cringed at the violent reaction to the epi-shot, but prayed the sickness would pass soon. Nick needed to get more cold medication in his system and keep it down.

Nick was shaking rather violently and Warrick helped him back up as he was maneuvered towards the cot. Kenny darted outside for no apparent reason, but Warrick didn't pay him much attention as he got Nick settled back down. This last breathing attack had wiped his partner out and the knot that had been twisting his guts almost made him ill with sympathy pains. Warrick checked Nick's pulse again and grit his teeth at the beating beneath his fingertips. Two successive doses of epinephrine were rocketing his pulse and undoubtedly his blood pressure near dangerous levels. But this form of treatment could not be helped. Warrick also knew that the minutes were slipping away and pulled out the cold tablet from his pocket at the same time Kenny came bounding back in.

Warwick eyed him suspiciously but the pack rat carried a chipped coffee mug filled with water. Kenny glared at the green eyes, becoming huffy at the accusation he saw there. "Found a pump outside. Thought the dude could use something cold to drink."

Warrick let his jaw drop at this slight sign of decency, while his scientific mind wondered how sanitary it could be. Nick didn't need to catch some waterborne disease or lead poisoning on top of everything.

"I-I saw that earlier," a paper-thin voice whispered.

Warrick turned to Nick who remained laying on his back, one eye cracked open. "I---I think -it's safe," he panted out, before coughing.

Warrick took the offered water as Nick struggled to sit up. Warrick tried to hold the mug but Nick brushed his hands away accepting the drink with two unsteady hands. "Not an invalid," he whispered under his breath.

Warrick snorted and handed him the pill, which Nick took, drinking the rest of the water in several large gulps.

Kenny took a seat with his usually unhappy disposition and kept an eye out the window. Warrick sat quietly as Nick took his fill and handed the cup over before he dropped it, back to his partner, an inch still left in the bottom. Warrick shook his head. "I'm not drinking that, Grizzly Adams. Hope you're an expert on conditions of water pumps."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Seen enough in the field and back home," he replied.

Warrick released a large breath, some of his panic diminishing for now. "Jesus, Nick. Let me know when you feel it coming on again." Warrick wiped at his face, then frowned when Nick didn't look up at him. "Nick?"

His partner kept his head bowed. "Just dizzy," he responded.

There were a few minutes of tense silence, each man lost in his own world. Warrick thought about the cell phone, knowing that there wasn't going to be much more time. One call would end it all, one way or another. It was like being split in two. The little device felt like a dead weight in his pocket, the number pad the portal to the end of this standoff. Warrick's thoughts became darker as he searched the room once more, hoping that an answer would miraculously appear like some secret treasure. His eyes drifted towards the knapsack on the floor and Warrick's brain went into overdrive with ideas.

He got up to move over to it when he felt a hand on his arm. Warrick looked over to see Nick steady himself, taking a few deep breaths that sounded much clearer than just a while ago. "You got a plan laid out yet?"

Warrick's worry and bewilderment were hard to conceal. Nick's shoulders stiffened as he sat straighter. "I'm doing better. We need to move if we're gonna get Tina."

Nick's voice was less shaky, an obvious effort on his part. Warrick didn't look at him with pity; his friend deserved better than that. "Nick..."

His partner's lips formed a thin line as he shook his head. "You need back up... You-"

"You need to lay back down and stop wasting your breath," Warrick cut him off.

Warrick saw anger, not directed towards him, but pure rage and frustration at a body that was slowly failing. Nick attempted to stand but wavered. Warrick easily pushed him back down onto the cot. His heart broke at how weak his best friend had become. Nick kicked at the floor with his boot, his face scrunched up in emotion.

"No," he rasped. Nick wiped at his face in agitation and stopped briefly enough to gaze at his trembling right hand in resentment. His brown eyes narrowed and he looked over at Warrick in desperation. "I'm not gonna just lay here, Man." Nick shook his head. "I'm not gonna let this beat me."

Warrick felt like a wild animal that had been backed into a corner. He was tired of these games, of trying to buck it up and conceal his true emotions. He was boiling over like a volcano- hate, anger, and fear all tearing him to pieces on the inside. The cruelty of the decisions before him was so damn insufferable. He wanted to tear his gaze away from his partner, away from the obvious pain and bodily deterioration. But he wouldn't. No matter what, he would look Nick in the eye.

"It's a bit of a hike back over there, Bro. I just... I mean…" Warrick bit his lip, his eyes feeling moist. He didn't want Nick to feel like a burden, but there was no way he was in any shape to help get Tina back, let alone walk for any length of time before collapsing.

Nick hid his twitchy right hand in his lap. He stared at the floor, his voice a mere whisper. "I'm gonna die, Rick." Nick looked up at him, his face pale, "Don't let me do it layin' down."

Warrick gripped Nick by both shoulders. "You're not gonna die! Not today, not tomorrow. You didn't survive that box to quit on me now," Warrick said fiercely

Nick didn't respond. He searched his partner's eyes, relaying to him his absolute need to be... Focused. Mobile. Effective. Useful.

Warrick was barely able to control his own shakes but he remained firm...strong. He squeezed Nick's bicep. "Have it your way, Bro. Lay down for just a little bit, reserve your strength. I'll talk to Kenny on how to work his gizmos and then we'll raid the house. Okay?"

Nick nodded, relieved. Warrick pushed him down to the cot then helped bring his legs up to rest. "No more jawin' at me, now. Catch another power nap, and then we'll head down in the next thirty minutes. Got it?" he asked, with a short pat to Nick's shoulder

Nick's eyes were already closed. "Yeah, sounds good."

Warrick stood up to discuss his plans with Kenny when he felt a hand grab his. "Thanks, Rick. Didn't... Don't plan on dyin' in a Longhorns shirt."

Warrick's lips curved into a slight smile. "No problem, Bro." He wandered over to Kenny who looked at him expectantly. Warrick nodded his head towards the next room, and both men headed inside as he latched the door.

As soon as the creaky hinges signaled privacy, Warrick advanced on his childhood friend, his intent quite clear. "I want you to show me how to use your bag of tricks to get inside the Voice's house. I also want to know what's on that disc."

The authoritative no-nonsense demand was enough for Kenny to begin blurting out details on how to use his homemade gadgets for avoiding alarms and crippling some of the security measures in place. "No way you gonna be able to get past all those goons, dude. I mean...I know you want your wife back and all…but... it'd be suicide," Kenny yammered on.

Warrick's face was a stone chiseled in concentration. "And the files," he pressed.

Kenny looked like he was going to argue again, but Warrick's death ray stare silenced any protests.

Warrick studied the file encrypted CD. "The truth. What could I use this for? What's the advantage?" Warrick glared at the smaller man.

Kenny licked his lips as if debating the most important decision in his life; little did he know it would be just that. He huffed and mumbled, but finally looked at his friend. "It could be used against the dude's competitors. Take down their sites as well, or hold them hostage. Make him tons of cash."

Warrick gripped the disc tighter. "Does he need you to use it?"

Kenny almost growled in response. "To access it, yeah. It's password protected, and the guy's got techs. I even heard he's got one of them Cray supercomputers." Kenny' eyes lit up for a moment, "But even with his fancy machine it would take him well over a month just to decipher my thirteen digit code to open it."

Warrick tapped the disc to his chin. "As much of an asshole and maniacal as this guy is-he's still all gung ho about honor," Warrick spoke out loud.

He turned to Kenny. "I could offer this and maybe myself as insurance. Get him to let Tina go, and call for some help for Nick," Warrick mused, his voice almost hopeful.

Kenny didn't try to hide his objections to the idea. "No way, Man. He'd kill you and Tina and then come back and take care of the rest of us."

Warrick shook his head, bobbing the CD in his hand. "I think this information is more valuable in the long run. This guy can't just be pissed at you for trying to jump the totem pole of some hierarchal standard. You ruffled his feathers, embarrassed him. But… if I show him something he can gain value from, then I think deep inside, he'd have no choice but to deal."

Kenny wasn't paying attention to his friend as the realization that he was going to be abandoned again and left to fend for himself dawned on him. "Nah, Man. He'll kill ya," he blabbered on.

Warrick was at his wit's end as he grabbed the front of the little man's shirt, almost pulling him up to his tiptoes. "It's the only chance we got. I'm gonna get my wife back and Nick... he's gonna get help. No way am I going to watch him suffer anymore."

Kenny scrabbled at the fingers curled around a clump of fabric. "A'ight, damn!"

Warrick immediately regretted this most recent burst of anger and released the shirt, his hand left hanging empty in the air as Kenny took several steps backward, smoothing the fabric on his chest. Warrick shook his head with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Bro. I'm just…"

Just what? Scared stiff for his wife, for his friends…for himself? He had no more desire to offer himself up to The Voice than he did to volunteer to clean the shark tank at Mandalay Bay. Hell, the latter would probably be safer.

"Kenny," he started again, more softly, conscious that he needed Kenny's full attention and his help once more. "C'mere."

Kenny eyed him suspiciously but took a few steps forward, careful to remain out of arms reach.

Warrick collapsed onto the cot and put his head in his hands. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Kenny. But I gotta talk to ya." He looked back up into Kenny's eyes. "Please." And he waved a hand at the floor in front of him.

Kenny looked at him askance for a moment, then acceded to the CSI's request and came closer to fold himself cross-legged on the floor.

Warrick leaned over to bring his face closer. "I'm going." He held a hand up as Kenny's mouth opened to renew his protests. "It's settled. But I need you to keep an eye on Nick while I'm gone. Now look. You saw how he got when he couldn't breathe, yeah?"

Kenny gave a short nod, his brow wrinkling at the memory.

"Okay. If you see him look like he's having trouble, and he can't answer you when you talk to him, he needs to use the last shot. If he can't do it you'll hafta do it for him. Snap it outa the plastic case, put your thumb on the trigger on top, and bang it against his thigh, on the outside."

He saw Kenny's face screw up in distaste. "Listen, Kenny. This is important. Whatever you do, don't do it anywhere but in his thigh. Anything higher than the waist and you could send him into immediate cardiac arrest. You get me?" he asked more sternly.

"Yeah, yeah. I got it. Not above the waist. But you'll probably be back before he needs another one, right?" he asked, hope shining in his brown eyes.

"I don't think so, Kenny," he said slowly. "I think you and Nick will be on your own from here on out. If things work out, you'll have help here soon enough." He left unspoken what would happen if things didn't work out.

"Look, there's a stream running behind the cabin. It runs down here past the house. I'm gonna follow it back up. I should still have a couple hours of daylight left." He paused and looked into the scared eyes of his childhood friend. So many years had passed yet the bond was still there. The two of them had weathered the gales and squalls of teenagehood together, each man emerging stronger in his own way.

"You did good, Kenny. Coming in to save us like that, armed with a freakin' toy pistol. You got _huevos_ on you, Bro. And I won't ever forget it. You saved me and you saved Nick. And you're gonna have saved Tina, too," he said as he straightened to leave, Kenny following suit.

He stuck out a hand and Kenny gave him a smile and knocked his knuckles against the closed fist. Warrick brought him in for a one-armed hug, much like the one Kenny had tried to give him back when this whole tragedy began. He squeezed the younger man, then released and gave a hope-filled smile to his childhood friend.

Kenny nodded. "Take care, Ricky. I'll keep an eye on your boy," he said with a roll of his eyes. "You go get Tina back, ya hear?"

"That's the plan, Bro. That's the plan."

Kenny hesitated a moment, then cocked his head to the side as he began chewing on his bottom lip once more. "As far as that goes, Ricky, I may have a Plan B for you."

* * *

Grissom looked expectantly at the AV Tech, hands crossed on the book on the desk in front of him. Archie's pronouncement that he knew the identity of the man they knew only as The Voice beat the hell outa all his research, but was the first good news he'd heard since learning of the situation his two CSIs had gotten themselves into.

Archie smiled, enjoying knowing something the entomologist didn't for just an extra second or two. "Okay. So you know how I told you the word was this guy had a Cray Supercomputer? Well, the government maintains the usage of all the Crays in existence. The vast majority of them were owned and used by the government, specifically the military and Intelligence. When they sell them, they have to degauss them with these giant electromagnets in order to wipe the hard drives so…" He noted his boss's eyebrow lift in impatience. "Okay, so I have this uh, friend, who … you don't really want to hear this do you?" he asked uncomfortably.

"Thomas Gray said, 'Ignorance is bliss.' Normally, that goes against everything I believe in, but for this I think I'll have to agree with him. Your friend's activities are appreciated, regardless of their legality. Go on."

"Well, he got the names of private parties who have obtained ownership of Crays. Only one in Nevada, and it belongs to one Charles Lee. I checked him out through Interpol. Sounds like our guy. Born in Singapore in the forties, right after the war. He owns a couple of casinos in Macao, another one in Monte Carlo. Interpol had him under suspicion for a variety of crimes. Money laundering, selling opium. He even owns a few brothels in Bangkok. Bodies have turned up in every city he's resided or done business in that they've tried to put his name to. I already ran the name through Lexis. Unfortunately, Lee is like the Chinese version of Smith. There are almost a hundred property records for Charles Lees in Vegas and the surrounding area."

Grissom closed his eyes at the hydra before him. Each head he cut off sprung two more.

"With what we have here, and what you know, is it possible to winnow our search parameters down a bit?" he asked the tech.

"Oh, yeah. I mean, if this guy is as deep into _feng shui _as we've heard he is, it should be pretty easy to figure out the most likely candidates."

"Good. Grab Catherine and we'll pull the records you have and plot them on the map. Let's see if we can't prove Francis Bacon right."

* * *

An hour or so later they had a map of Las Vegas projected up on the main view screen in the AV Lab. Red circles marked the presence of a piece of property owned by a Charles Lee. Almost a hundred of them, most of them lumped in the Chinatown section of Vegas on Spring Mountain Road.

Archie manned the keyboard, nimble fingers dancing over the keys. The first thing he did was clear the Chinatown listings. They had agreed there was little chance a man of such power would reside in an area of shopping centers and strip clubs.

The red circles now scattered over all of Nevada, solitary marks in Humboldt, Mineral, and Eureka Counties, two listings in Nye County, and about a dozen remained in Clark County.

With the press of a few more keys the map had an overlay of the state's topological features.

Archie sat back and cracked his knuckles. "Okay," he began slowly, "we look for a few different things. The key things we look for in the proper geomantic setting for a _feng shui_ practitioner are mountains or hills, bodies of water, and roads. Certain things we want, certain things we don't. It's favorable to be alongside a body of water, a river, a stream, even a reservoir. Great power can be gained from the building being placed in the protection of a mountain, or a hill. And if there is a road leading to it, it should be winding and not lead directly to the establishment. If I plug those factors in…" he said, his fingers once more tapping at the keyboard. "There. We have a much smaller pool to work with."

Now on the screen some of the red dots had been changed to yellow. Only ten or so.

Grissom raised his eyebrow, pleased by the reduction in their options, yet still daunted by the amount and more importantly the distance between those remaining.

"Archie, we know he has access to vast amounts of information. He apparently can control lights and cameras, maintains a global network of businesses. What would someone need, energy and physical connection-wise to be that omniscient?"

"Well," the tech answered, drawing out his response as he leaned back and mulled it over. "He'd need a pretty significant amount of electricity to power the Cray alone. Yeah… that'd work," he said as he bent back over the keyboard to bring up the Nevada Sierra Pacific website. "They have a database the LVPD can research. Vice uses it to sniff out drug dealers- growing pot uses a lot of juice," he commented as he flipped through the various screens. He quickly entered in the parameters of his search and waited for the program to run. "Ookay… here we go. Wow. Whatever this guy here is doing, he's using enough power to run the space program. Holy shit, Grissom. The location is one of our matches."

He returned back to the topological map and fingers blurred once more over the keys as he summoned up a closer image of their result. It showed to be about fifty miles west of Vegas, nestled in the Spring Mountains.

Grissom mentally paged through the atlas in his head. "That's near Lost Cabin, right? Next to Lovell Canyon. They had a horrible series of wildfires there back in 2002, if I remember correctly. They think a lightning strike caused it. The pinion pines went up like matchsticks. But that whole area was lost to the fire," he said, his enthusiasm quickly deflating.

Catherine quickly chimed in. "Yeah, but the fires stopped at the canyon. The East side I think. And this location looks like the other side of the canyon. And look," she said, raising a French-manicured nail to the screen. "Your body of water … a good-sized stream shows running along this whole section."

She turned back towards Gil with an eager yet worried look on her face. "So what's the plan? We can't exactly drive into the mountains, waving our guns and demanding our guys from some poor Charles Lee running his own greenhouse or whatever. We are in no way gonna get any kind of a warrant on this stuff. Not saying it wasn't great work, because it was, but, Gil? What do we do next?"

"There is a famous English chef, Isabella Beeton, who wrote a cookbook with what were supposed to be very simple recipes for ladies of means to try. Her recipe for Welsh Rarebit starts, 'First you catch a hare.' In cooking, as in life, the first step is always the most difficult. Looks like we try to catch our hare."

* * *

tbc... 


	16. Chapter 16

* * *

Warrick found this hike a bit more daunting going back to the chamber of horrors than the trudge that lead them to their refuge. The escape had been a panic-infused whirlwind as they blindly fought their way through the woods. He followed a stream towards what he hoped would lead to the back of the house. The route proved to be fairly precarious. More than once he had lost his footing on the uneven ground going back uphill.

He stumbled when his foot connected hard with a sharp piece of rock, barely keeping himself from falling as his hand grabbed part of a tree trunk. He took a moment to catch his breath and looked behind him for the umpteenth time since he had walked out the cabin. He knew that he was alone out here, but he couldn't shake his new found friend paranoia from keeping him in its constant company. No goons were waiting to strike from behind. He forced his exhausted body forward as he absently rubbed at the growing throb of his bruised up shoulder.

He tried to keep his mind occupied with his game plan. The raggedy backpack contained a few of the devices he would use to by-pass the security to the Voice's lair, and perhaps help him inside as well if given the chance. He had grabbed the knife from the cabin and stashed it with the electronic gadgets as his only form of weaponry. The scalpel in his back pocket was not very intimidating compared to a sociopath doctor.

He grit his teeth, struggling on the inclined terrain as he hoofed it up the side of the mountain. His heart pounded at the idea of how close he was to the house. There was no way Nick would have been able to keep up on the more difficult trek. Hell, Nick wouldn't have been able to make it a few feet away from the temporary shelter.

His partner. Warrick could not shake the idea that he was abandoning him. The image of Nick's panicked expression when they had discovered the charges that were rigged to explode. In his state of mind Nick had thought Warrick had left him, screaming and pounding on the lid to his coffin when he had disappeared from view. This time he really was leaving him, but it was with the slim chance he could rescue his wife and get Nick the medical attention he needed so badly.

The cards had been dealt, and this was the only hand he could play to save them all. He'd exchange the files, or himself for Tina's release and call an ambulance for his partner. One way or another he was going to be proactive. Warrick chose option C; it may not had been part of the answer key, but then again he didn't always play by the book when so much was riding on the outcome.

He berated himself; he needed to stay focused on the game plan---the one he was making up as he went along. Being alone with your thoughts was not a way to avoid the crushing feelings of guilt and anger. No doubt when Nick awoke from his nap the sick guy would try to follow him, but it was sad to think that even Kenny would be able to force him to stay put. Nick's time was running out.

Facing death wasn't what Nick feared the most. Dying on some ratty cot, in a shitty little cabin, was a worse fate. His partner's stubbornness was an attribute that caused a lot of problems but one of the things that kept him alive. Warrick prayed that Nick would see that this was a two-pronged war. Warrick was striking hard against their opponent while Nick's part of the battle was with his own body. Keep hanging on till help could arrive. It would take both of them to be successful in order to win.

Warrick re-doubled his efforts as his pace increased, sheer willpower moving his feet faster than he thought possible with all of his aches and pains. If Nick could take torture by needles, then he could hustle up this fucking mountain faster. It was hard to see, and Warrick cursed the absence of light, but he'd use it to his advantage as he snuck in under the cover of night. Damn mob boss lived in the middle of nowhere.

Warrick went over Kenny's instructions in his head again. People rarely surprised him, but his boyhood friend practically astonished him. He knew the geeky nerd was smart, but some of the things he managed to create were damn near ingenious. How could a guy who was so smart with technology lack so much common sense? He could sell what he had to make the money he so desperately wanted. Instead he tried the most foolish and idiotic plan in the world, and pissed off Emperor Nero of the underground

Kenny…the man was so damn annoying sometimes, but beneath it all, he knew there was a goodness. No one survived the shambles of such a rotten life if they didn't have a good heart. Despite acting so intolerable towards his partner, Warrick knew the pack rat would keep an eye on Nick. He'd watch over him long enough to get help.

Warrick felt adrenaline surge through his veins as he recognized what had to be the beginnings of the Voice's land. The woods were thinning out, to be replaced by trees that looked well taken care of. Limbs were cut, the vegetation more luscious looking, the ground trim and neat. Warrick was on full alert mode, slowing down to keep his presence a secret. The flowing waters twisted and turned, and the next bend led towards several large rows of sculpted bushes.

This had to be the outskirts of the house; only yards separating Warrick from his goal. He kept low and crept up towards the bushes, their mass hiding his body from view. He wasn't sure exactly which side of the house he was approaching. He was too far away from the lair to recognize anything so, hoping for a little luck, he continued around towards the left, praying it would lead to the back of the house. He didn't know if the guy had dogs or just electronic security. He didn't see any guards on patrol.

The asshole probably doubted that his enemies would dare attack him on his own turf. He'd prove him dead wrong.

Warrick risked passing the protection of the tall shrubs when he spotted a stretch of tress, and used them as cover as he got closer. He continued to find anything to duck or hide behind as he made his way nearer to the target. Warrick knew the guy had at least five or six hired goons and they, with the vile doctor, made the gambit fairly precarious. The odds were long, but he did enjoy the thrill of gambling, not necessarily the skills behind it.

He would not need the gadgets until he reached a door or a window. After maneuvering as stealthily as possible he discovered he'd gone the wrong way. He was near the front entrance, and not the more secluded back. Shaking his head for choosing left, he prayed that it was the last bad decision, which meant everything else would be slanted in his favor. The CSI smiled ruefully at how ridiculously illogical his rationale was at this point. He was about to turn around, thinking the time it would take to get behind the house was worth it, when he heard the sound of activity.

He fell to his belly as he crawled along the ground to hide within the low-lying shrubbery near his position. He made it over to another tree, _the guy loves his damn lawn _he mused, when he saw the source of the noise. Three people were coming out a door and were approaching a Cherokee parked on the driveway. At first he thought his ruse was up, until he realized that the hired muscle were not looking for him, but were leaving.

Warrick smiled at his good luck. He caught sight of Madame Chu, shouting orders in Chinese and looking very pissed off. Something had happened and the vile woman was definitely animated about something. All three of them piled into the SUV and took off in a hurry. Warrick stayed where he was for a while longer just in case they turned around. He smiled at the realization that the sudden turn of events evened up the odds; this left the Voice with only a couple of bodyguards. Although he really wanted to smack the bitch up for what she did, he was not stupid. He definitely didn't want to tango with that woman; she was cold and dangerous and a lethal combination he was happy not to have to deal with.

Warrick rummaged through the knapsack and pulled out the knife he took from the cabin. He held it in his right hand, hoping it would be enough. He licked his lips and pulled out one of the gadgets used for getting by the alarms. He was close enough that he could use one of the gizmos to start mucking up the internal security. He took a deep breath. The next few minutes were the most vital. It all came down to what happened next.

He looked up to the sky, seeking enlightenment, and asking for all the luck in the world. Another little prayer sent up to the heavens that he could end this horrid game once and for all.

* * *

Nick awoke to find that the elephant previously parked on his chest had moved on to greener pastures. The weight was now more like when the Stokes family's old tomcat, Bruiser, had curled up on his chest at bedtime. That cat weighed damn near twenty pounds, but compared to the tonnage there previously it was a welcome respite.

He lifted his head from the cot, only to gasp at the pain in his back and legs. And hand and chest. And head and… He grit his teeth and pulled himself to sit up, swinging his legs over the edge and planting his feet on the cabin floor. He sat there with his eyes closed as he willed the room to stop spinning and breath into his lungs. Another wave of nausea passed over him and he swallowed back bile as his gorge rose in his throat. While the cat was there it must have shit in his mouth he decided. Could be the only explanation for the horrendous taste. That or the non- stop vomiting for the last several hours.

He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered as the cold damp of the cabin soaked into his bones.

When he finally opened his eyes, he saw Kenny perched on a chair several feet away, staring at him in the dim light. The look on the smaller man's face was inscrutable. Nick really couldn't tell what it said, but at least it was absent the shitty look he normally received.

He blinked a few times, trying to bring things into focus. Kenny sat staring at him like a stone gargoyle.

"What are you starin' at?" he finally croaked out.

"Nothin'. How do you feel?"

"Fine. What's with the sudden concern, Kenny? You need me for something?" he asked irritably.

"Naw. Just askin'."

That was definitely odd. No biting rebuff? No sneer or snarl?

"Where's Rick?"

"Outside." A hand rose to play with a loose braid.

Nick nodded, figuring his partner was probably pacing out his problems.

Kenny continued to stare at him and the little guy was creeping him out.

"Something on your mind, Kenny?"

"Naw…" A long pause followed. "You need this?" He held up the asthma inhaler that had gotten lost during his most recent crisis.

The relief he had gotten the last time he used it persuaded him to nod and hold out a hand. Kenny got up from his seat, handed Nick the inhaler, then sat back down, his new toy a ragged hangnail.

Nick gave the small container a shake. Not much liquid left in the small metal bottle. "No, Kenny. It's almost gone. You keep it." Nick held out a hand to return the medication to its owner.

Kenny shook his head. "I'm good, Dawg. You need it more than me. 'Sides. I know what it's like not to be able to breathe," he said turning his head slightly away.

Nick gave a small smile at the man's sacrifice and huffed it deeply into his lungs, enjoying the feeling as his bronchials opened up.

He dropped the now pretty much empty bottle to his side and bent over to put his head in his hands. He regretted what he'd said earlier to Warrick. Confessing his fear… his knowledge that he wasn't going to walk away from this. Pills and inhalers could only do so much, he knew. But he shouldn't have added to his partner's burden. He knew that his partner carried guilt around like an albatross 'round his neck. He felt personally responsible for Holly's death, much as if he himself had pulled the trigger. He felt responsible when Nick got thrown out the window. And the whole coin toss thing … He sighed as he remembered how his partner could barely look him in the eyes the first few days after he came to in the hospital.

He lifted his head from his hands to see Kenny's brown eyes back fixed on him. Damn eerie.

He cleared his throat and sat up to rub one still shaky palm on his jeans. The way the man was gawking at him made him flash to a memory he had from calmer days.

"I have a friend," he said, then paused, seeing Kenny start a bit at this new attempt at conversation. "I have this friend, Greg, back at the Lab," he started again. "He likes to sit and watch the popcorn pop in the microwave. I keep telling him he's gonna melt his eyeballs out one day. But he says it's like watching chemistry and physics in action."

Kenny sat up straighter. "Yeah. I mean, the way the microwaves agitate the water molecules in the kernel to just the right vapor pressure…" Kenny caught himself actually getting excited. "It's cool, I mean," he finished with a mumble.

Nick gave a small chuckle. "It is cool. Actually, Kenny, you'd like Greg a lot. I'll have to hook you two up when we get back," he added with a reassuring smile.

The smaller man just grunted at him.

"You know, Kenny… I, uh, never thanked you for what you did back there at the house. You saved our hides showin' up like that. Thanks. I mean it."

Kenny bit his lip and nodded in reply. Chewed for a bit, ripping off a dry piece of skin leaving a streak of red on his bottom lip.

Nick watched as the man ingested himself in fragments. The little man was a bundle of nerves. No wonder with an upbringing like his…

He was just about to get up and try making his way outside when he saw Kenny sit up straighter and look him in the eye.

"Ricky told me …"

Nick waited for the words he didn't want to hear. Warrick told him…no wonder he's staring at me, being nice. Then he watched, as Kenny appeared to change his mind, mentally moving his words around like tiles on a Scrabble board.

"Ricky told me what you did for me back there. What happened to you."

Oh. Nick nodded in response. "Warrick told me you guys go way back. Heard that today wasn't the first time you saved his ass. Seemed only appropriate I do the same for you," he replied simply.

"Yeah, well, I dunno if you noticed but Ricky don't make friends too easily. You guys are pretty tight so I figure you must be a'ight. For a white boy," he said, a flash of a smile, the first since he'd met the man.

Nick smiled himself, recognizing truth in the man's words. Warrick's suave and cool persona masked a shy and gentle interior that sometimes made it hard for the man to connect.

Speaking of … where was his partner? It was freezing inside the tiny cabin; it had to be worse outside.

It dawned on him that there might be another reason for Kenny's nerves.

"Where's Rick?"

"Told you. Outside." Hands reached for a braid again.

Nick shook his head. "No, he isn't, is he, Kenny? Where is he?"

Kenny sighed. "He took off. 'Bout an hour ago when you fell asleep. Couldn't talk him out of it, Bro."

"He went back to the house." Not a question. A statement of fact. And he knew why his partner had chosen that time to leave. It was right after he uttered those foolish words.

He rose from the cot, his only thought to follow his partner. That was the plan. They were supposed to be going together. He managed to get his legs to stop wobbling, but the first step he took had him swaying unsteadily, and only a pair of small hands catching him by the waist stopped him from crashing to the cabin floor. Kenny helped him ease back down to the cot where he sat pounding his fist on his knee in frustration.

"It's my fault, Kenny. I said something I shouldn't have and that's why he left."

Kenny reached back and pulled the chair up closer. "Wasn't anything you said, Dawg. Nothing stopping that man when he's got a mind to do something. Just chill, Bro."

Nick shook his head. "We were supposed to go together. I thought if I could just grab a few minutes of sleep…" He faded off, knowing that no amount of sleep was going to bring him back far enough to be of help. His body was failing him. He knew he'd have been a liability if he'd gone. But the thought of his friend taking on a houseful of armed guards and state of the art security alone…

"He left you here for me, didn't he?" he asked thickly.

Kenny paused before he answered. "Uh uh. I told him there was no way I was goin' back to deal with guns and scorpions and shit. No, I, uh, told him I'd rather stay behind."

"You know he's got no chance, don't you, Kenny?" he asked, dark eyes shining in the little light now left in the cabin.

The smaller man averted his gaze as his teeth met another tag of flesh on his thumb.

He felt his lids grow heavy as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. The temptation to lie back on the cot and let sleep steal away the last of his time was strong. It would be easier than waiting for what was inevitably to come.

Instead he once more lurched himself to his feet and stumbled across the few feet of floor between him and the wall, barely making it as his hand scrabbled for purchase on the cut wood planks. He turned and leaned his weight against the wall, his breathing once more having turned to gasping. But he was standing.

"What was his plan, Kenny? Did he even have one or go off half-cocked in true Warrick Brown style?"

Kenny had risen to his feet, standing by to lend aid while he watched the CSI stagger across the room. He returned to his earlier pacing as he opened another wound on his thumb.

"I gave him my stuff. The, uh, equipment, and my encrypted disc. He's gonna try to disarm the security system with the stuff I gave him and sneak in and get Tina. If that don't work, said he's gonna turn hisself and the disc over to The Voice. He's gonna get the dude to let Tina and us go. He figured the files were enough bargaining power that it might work. Ricky's right. Voice can make billions with it using it against his competitors. Probably only have to use it once. He'd get the rest of the money in blackmail."

Nick sighed as he leaned his head against the wall, pounding it lightly trying to clear it. It had been well over an hour since the last cold pill and the inhaler was only getting him so far. He could already feel the hitch in his breathing and the sensation that his lungs were filling with fiberglass insulation.

His back rested on the cabin wall, the cold seeping through from outside to chill him even further. He wrapped his arms around himself and eyed the wood stove once again. Then he sighed and closed his eyes as if blocking the lure of the promise of warmth from sight.

His partner had a heart of gold and a will of iron. He was a highly skilled investigator, now carrying high tech cutting edge equipment. And he had that famous Warrick Brown luck. But no amount of skill, luck, or equipment, James Bond not withstanding, was going to win out over armed guards and sociopathic doctors and there was no way it was going to get his partner and his wife out of there unscathed.

Kenny had turned out to be a smart, resourceful little guy, and like the Cowardly Lion, only had to be confronted by a real challenge for his courage to shine through. He could probably leave the cabin and be in Mexico before the next sundown.

It was then that Nick realized the one thing he had left to contribute and that it could be the thing that saved the other three.

As he reached his decision he ironically felt his heart speed up with his own homemade epinephrine, his two adrenal glands way into double overtime producing the stress hormone. He felt the odd skipping of beats, as if the percussion section in his chest went from philharmonic to elementary school. Every few thuds gained a scary hiccup while the valves did their best to flap open and shut, now exhausted from overuse and lack of oxygen and out of sync with his normal cardiac rhythm.

He'd made his decision and apparently none -too- soon.

He eyed the smaller man as Kenny continued to pace, glancing up every once in a while as if to make sure Nick was still standing.

"Hey, Kenny…did he leave the phone?"

Kenny's hand sunk unconsciously to his front pocket to feel the weight there. "Yeah," he said offhandedly, "but it's no good, Bro. One more call and they'll be able to find us."

"I know."

The words hung suspended in the cold dank air of the steadily darkening cabin.

"So what you want the phone for then, Man?" Kenny asked uncomfortably.

"I want you to call 911 and tell them where we are."

Kenny shook his head in exasperation, as if Nick's lack of oxygen was affecting his brain. "I told you… can't use it, not even once."

Nick pushed off from the wall and slowly stepped towards the center of the room, weaving only slightly now as determination set in his face.

"I want you to call 911, Kenny. Tell them we need help. Make sure they know that Warrick is here. Do you understand?"

"Dude, if I call it'll bring half that house full of thugs on us …… oh."

Nick nodded as the smaller man caught on. "You call 911, put on as good an act as you did back at the house. Then get yourself outa here."

Kenny shook his head. "Man, even at full power you'd never be able to take them on. Whatcha gonna use against 'em? A fishing pole?"

The fleeting burst of renewed energy he'd gained was quickly fading. He stumbled a bit but managed to make it back to the cot where he sunk down heavily, unable to form words as he tried to breathe deeply and slowly. He closed his eyes as his concentration fell to trying to rein in his heart, which was now galloping away like a wild stallion.

"Kenny, I know Rick told you," he said, still not willing to open his eyes and see the confirmation he knew would be on the smaller man's face. "You do this and Warrick has a chance of getting Tina out. The outcome for me is pretty much the same either way."

Turned out he didn't have to have his eyes open for evidence that Warrick had told Kenny. The silence that followed his last statement told him all he needed.

"Do it, Kenny. Do it now. If he left an hour ago he could be there soon." He reopened his eyes to see that Kenny had removed the cell from his pocket and was staring at it in his hand. Flipping it open he gazed at the number pad while his teeth worked at another chunk of flesh on his bottom lip. He looked back up at Nick, nodded, and pressed the three buttons. 9, 1, 1.

What followed was an Oscar winning performance. Nick wasn't sure if a real 911 operator or a stand-in imposter had answered the other end of the line, but regardless, Kenny gave it his all. His emotional appeal for help, combined with feigned yells to a phantom Warrick provided his little drama with all the needed details, leading anyone listening to think that all three men were there.

The hackles raised on the back of his neck as he listened to Kenny's impassioned pleas for help shouting about how his friend couldn't breathe. A little too close to true for comfort.

Kenny spat out a final, "Hurry!" before hanging up the phone and flinging it to the floor in distaste.

"Tried to make me think it was a real 911 operator," he muttered. "Then he tells me to hang up, help is coming. Real 911 guy woulda had me stay on the line. Figure he had all the info he needed now…"

Nick nodded in acceptance. Everything was in motion and nothing could stop the consequences now.

"Do me one last favor before you take off, Kenny?"

The little man looked at Nick expectantly, his face a picture of awe and respect mixed with guilt and pity.

"Yeah, Bro. What you need?" he asked softly.

"Grab some wood and start a fire. Might as well be warm while I wait."

* * *

tbc.. 


	17. Chapter 17

* * *

Warrick stood dumbfounded outside a red-painted door at the side of the house. A garage stood approximately fifty feet away and he presumed the purpose of the door was to let occupants out to use the garage. What had him dumbfounded was the electronic device sitting mutely in his hand. 

Kenny's instructions had been pretty explicit, and it wasn't as if he had never used an electronic nose before. But the device was supposed to beep when it encountered live wiring and after two hasty scans of the perimeter of the door, the thing had yet to let out a peep.

He wiped a palm now slightly sweaty with nerves on his jeans leg and decided to make sure with a third sweep. Third times the charm, but not a blip from the box.

He reached a hand up hesitantly, held his breath, and touched the brass knob. No alarms. He turned the knob and found it rotating 180 degrees, followed by a click and the door eased open under his light pressure.

Rather than be relieved by this Warrick felt his heartbeat pick up to four-four time as he pushed the door open further. Still not a sound. No klaxons or klieg lights. Just a dark room.

Growing up he'd read more than his fair share of crappy fantasy novels. And one of the things they all had in common was how easily the hero was able to enter the dragon's lair. It was always the getting out that got them into trouble.

He entered the dark area and stood as his eyes adjusted slightly. The open door allowed moonlight to filter in, casting strange shadows on the walls that upon focusing turned out to be nothing more than coats hung on pegs, boots and shoes piled neatly underneath them.

He made a quick search of the coats and surrounding shelving for anything to be used as a weapon, the rusty hunting knife lending little security.

No weapons but an extra bonus. A wooden slat nailed to the wall, five hooks protruding from it. And upon the last hook hung a set of keys, the Chrysler alarm fob immediately recognizable. Hoping they may be to one of the ubiquitous Grand Cherokees the man seemed to have he slipped them into his pocket.

At the end of the room stood another door. Next to it stood a set of wooden shelves set a few inches above the floor holding various pair of shoes and slippers. The purpose was apparently for people entering the home to leave their dirty shoes behind and the slippers to be used inside.

Warrick gave a small snort and figured he'd just dirty the man's carpeting with his mud-covered boots.

He put a hand on the next knob and his ear to the door. He figured the whole house must be able to hear his heart pounding like a kettledrum inside his chest. All this lurking, tiptoeing, ear to the door crap was nerve wracking and he'd laugh at the image of a six-two man in boots sneaking into a house undetected if it wasn't for the very real circumstances.

The next room was a kitchen. Stainless steel everything. And Very high end. His boots clomped noisily on the tile floor and he regretted not picking up a pair of the soft slippers but he was already committed.

The kitchen was dark but for a single fluorescent bar above the sink. He cast a quick look around, but the counters were all clean and clear of any clutter. Gaining a bit more confidence he strode through the kitchen to the swinging door set at the far end. This one had a window in it like a restaurant kitchen would for staff coming and going. He chanced a quick glance through the window, only to see a long hall set out before him, doors set on either side.

Back in the labyrinth. Which way to choose to save the damsel trapped within?

His books always had the hero cast a magic spell or use an enchanted sword to point the way. He had a rusty hunting knife and a scalpel with dried blood still covering it; Nick's and the psycho doctor's.

He drew in a breath and pushed the door open. It swung silently forward, then returned to its place as he let it go and stepped into the hall.

The first door on the left. Ear to the door, ease it open…food pantry. Shelves stocked with all kinds of weird looking food. Dried seaweed, salted fish, jars of pickled unknown.

The first door to the right. Walk-in freezer. He opened the stainless steel door, freezing cold air puffing out in an icy fog. Slabs of meat hanging from hooks. And ice cream. Gallon after gallon, every flavor imaginable. Maybe Chu craved ice cream after a fun day of torturing victims.

Second door on the left. Dining room. Ornately carved wooden table, long enough for the UN to meet at. High-backed wood and leather chairs stationed like soldiers at attention along its length. Gorgeous thick Oriental rug running the width and breadth of the hardwood floors.

Second door on the right. Janitorial closet. Mops, buckets, cleaning supplies.

He closed the door behind him with a sigh. At this rate it would take him the whole night to check the house and even his luck wouldn't hold out that long.

It occurred to him, and not for the first time, that Tina might not even be on the premises.

He shifted Kenny's bag of tricks on his shoulder, stood to his full height, and began striding down the hallway, shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Yo! Anybody here? I've come to see the Wizard. Hey! You hearin' me? I want Sang!"

He started opening doors, slamming them shut when he saw no one there, moving on to the next, his voice reverberating through the hallway. "I demand an audience with the great General!"

The last door at the end of the hallway led into an office. Sang was there, dressed in a richly embroidered robe and silk pants, sitting in a leather bound reclining desk chair, his legs crossed comfortably, his fingers steepled together under his chin, and a smile of bemusement on his face. On the desk sat a computer station.

"Mr. Brown. You wanted to see me. Here I am. You have brought Mr. Longman and the files, I presume?"

"Nope. I got the files. Kenny is out of it. I give you the files, you let Tina go. That's the deal."

Sang shook his head with a small disappointed smile. "No, Mr. Brown. This is not one of your American game shows. There are no _deals_ to be made. The files, and Mr. Longman. This is what I require. His thievery caused me great dishonor. I will not allow it to pass unpunished."

"Yeah, well, you got no choice. Kenny is not a bargaining chip, and neither is my wife. I give you the files and you give me Tina. You get to make billions to add to your little empire, and we go on our merry way."

The Voice's eyebrows rose at the word _billions._ "I have all the money a man could need in a lifetime, Mr. Brown. Why should I accede to your plans?"

"Because not only can you make billions, you can use it against all the other scum running schemes underground. You get off on running down competitors, using trickery and secrets, feeding off the power trip. These files promise all the power you need to run them outa business, or blackmail them into submission. But you need me for the files to work. I want Tina, and I want Tina now."

The steepled fingers toyed with the end of his hairless chin. He raised his hands to tap his fingers against his mouth, lips now narrowed in apparent thought.

He released a hand and lifted it to the earpiece that still rode on his ear. Spoke into the unseen microphone. "Bring the woman to me."

He then rose from the chair and walked over to a glass and brass wet bar nestled in a corner of the room. Cut crystal carafe of amber liquid, matching crystal glasses next to it. He pulled the top off the carafe with practiced ease and poured two inches into a glass, capping the bottle, then turning back to Warrick.

"I'm sorry…where are my manners? Drink?"

Warrick shook his head shortly. This was going way too easily and the faux friendliness was way worse than the anger and hostility he had expected to encounter.

"No? Pity. This is a Glenfiddich single malt. Bottled in 1937, at the height of World War Two. China and Japan were slaughtering each other by the thousands, and a distillery in Scotland was making whisky. This bottle cost $28,000. I purchased it, of all places, in the Hong Kong airport."

He took a small sip of the beverage, running a pink tongue over his thin lips. "Smoky. You can taste the peat. Sure you won't take a glass? After all, we are two generals discussing the terms of our engagement. Seems only civil."

Warrick wrinkled his brow in disgust. He refused to play along with the charade. Refrained from what he wanted to say, replying with a pointed, "No, thank you."

Sang nodded and returned to his desk chair, still sipping delicately at his glass of scotch.

A moment or two later, there was a knock at the door. The Voice gave a short, "Enter," and the door opened to reveal a large man dressed in black, probably one of the nameless, neckless thugs he and Nick had tangled with earlier. His meaty hand was wrapped around Tina's upper arm as he pushed her forward into the room.

She burst into tears and pulled from the man's grasp to grab a hold of Warrick. He took her into his embrace, running a quieting hand down her back, whispering reassurances and apologies into her hair. Her shampoo still carried the faintest wisp of apricots and he felt tears welling up in his eyes.

He cast a look over Tina's shoulder and met eyes with Sang. The Voice was smiling smugly as he stared at the two of them. Then raised a single finger and pointed at Tina and the thug reached over and wrested her away. She squealed in terror, batting fruitlessly at the brute's iron grip.

"Sorry to break up such a tender reunion, Mr. Brown, but I believe we have something to discuss."

He opened his mouth to speak, then held a slender finger up as he tapped at his ear. After just a moment of listening, his face revealing no change of expression, he uttered a simple, "Very good," then returned to speaking to Warrick as if the call had never interrupted them. "The files?"

Warrick looked back at Tina and gave her a small smile, trying to let her know that he was working to get her back. That they were getting out of this together. She snuffled, but quieted, watching the exchange between her captor and her husband.

"Now, as you can see, Mrs. Brown has not been harmed," Sang continued. "Time to… how to put it in terms you will understand? …Yes…put your cards on the table, Mr. Brown."

Warrick took the knapsack from off his shoulder, opening it and pulling out a plastic cased CD. He looked at it hesitantly, then handed it over to Sang.

Sang looked at it, flipping it back and forth as the plastic case threw prisms of light reflected on the ceiling.

"So you tell me I need you to make these files work, is that correct, Mr. Brown?"

He gave a quick nod in response. "Kenny put a thirteen digit password on it. You can work on it 'til the cows come home … Kenny assures me even the NSA couldn't break the encryption. He gave me the password. I want your word that you'll let us go and let me get help for my partner. Then you'll get the password. Not until."

Sang lips curled in a Grinch-like smile, but it never reached his cold almond eyes.

"Fortunately, Mr. Brown, I don't need you for the password. I shall get it from Mr. Longman."

Warrick shook his head. "I won't tell you where he is."

"Ah, but you don't have to. Mr. Longman succumbed to panic. He tried to call 911. Something about Mr. Stokes having stopped breathing. Madame Chu is on her way now to bring him back to me. Now I have you, I have the disc, and I will soon have Mr. Longman. Mr. Stokes is apparently no longer a concern, so as you see, I hold all the aces in this hand, Mr. Brown."

_He's not dead…he's not dead. Kenny knew it would do no good to call…knew it would only bring them running…why would he call?…can't be happening…Mr. Stokes stopped breathing …why would Kenny call? Why did he call? _His thoughts ricocheted around inside his head like bullets; all too fast to be seen and all potentially fatal. If he allowed himself to believe that Nick was dead and Kenny was caught then this whole thing was for nothing. He and Tina would be dead soon as well and Sang would win.

He blinked rapidly, clutching desperately at a way to bring this back around. It had been working …Sang had been willing to deal…

"You know you're not gonna catch Kenny. Dude's like a cockroach, sneaks around in the woodwork, hides in the shadows, always knows you're coming before you get there. You may find my partner, but you won't get Kenny, and you'll still be in the same position you were in."

He somehow was able to spit the words out without a stammer or stumble, finding resolve God knows where as he managed to maintain his calm cool demeanor. He realized it was probably because he believed the words himself. Kenny, ironically enough, was probably the one guy who could escape unscathed. God looks out for Drunks and small children. He'd have to amend that to scrawny tech geeks as well.

Sang shook his head. "Madame Chu lost much face with me. I believe the punishment meted out, and the knowledge of the penalty for any further failure will be sufficient motivation for her. She will bring Mr. Longman back, or she will know not to return. It is that simple."

"Oh, yeah! You think she's got him? Call her. You call her and ask her if she's got Kenny. I got a Benjamin says Kenny slipped through her fingers."

"Fingers…yes …" Sang said with an odd half smile. He stared at Warrick, mouth frozen with the one corner pulled up in what appeared to be half pain, half humor.

He raised a hand and tapped at his earpiece, speaking with clipped tones into the air. "Get me the doctor."

He waited a moment. Then two. He closed his eyes briefly then uttered a brief, "Keep trying."

Warrick's heart leapt at those two words. His bluff had paid off, if only temporarily. But what did it mean? Did Kenny really take off and abandon Nick? He knew he had been pretty clear with his childhood friend what was going on and what kind of help his partner needed. Would fear for his own life win out? Twenty years ago, Kenny was brave enough to help Warrick out when he needed it the most. The man snuck into a madman's lair to rescue them with a toy gun. But you didn't survive the way Kenny had without having a strong sense of self-preservation. Which meant that maybe Nick really was … but, why would Kenny call?

The cold eyes returned to fix back on him, as Sang appeared to ponder his next words.

"One who walks along a river frequently cannot avoid getting his feet wet on occasion. It would appear that Mr. Longman may have dampened my feet and my plans, Mr. Brown. Fortunately, I still have you and your wife. I shall not pick up the sesame seed, only to lose the watermelon. The password. You have it. I have your wife. The terms are clear. Do not make me waste breath restating them. This will be my final request as I grow weary of our banter."

Warrick stiffened as he saw Number One Goon tighten his grip on Tina's arms. She squealed at the pain of his fingers pressing into her flesh. But he was also encouraged by what he saw in The Voice's face. Irritation. The first sign of true emotion the man had let slip. For all his talk the man was still human. Barely.

He seized on it, a small ember of hope burning in his heart. Putting on his best poker face he sighed and nodded. "A'ight. You win."

Sang's face regained its previous smug smile. "You are a wise man, Mr. Brown." Saying that he removed the disc and walked over to the desk to open the drive on the computer. He placed the disc in and closed up the drawer, moving the mouse to reactivate the sleeping computer screen. The screen flashed black, then a box of text appeared. "Password: ".

He remained bent over the keyboard, fingers poised to enter the thirteen-digit code. Warrick was gratified to see another hint of anger in the man's face as the CSI stalled for time. He knew the code, had had the whole trip up here to memorize it, cement it in his head like a weird mantra. But he wanted to see how far he could push the man's buttons. See if he could get the reaction he was seeking.

Sang stood back up, ire now obvious on his face. Warrick stammered out, "I'm thinking! It's thirteen numbers and letters, Man. Gotta make sure I give it to you right."

"I have no more patience for your games, Mr. Brown. Give me the pass code."

Warrick screwed up his face and chewed on his lip, as if trying desperately to remember the password. "Alright, alright. You'll get it just gimme a second." He then sighed and nodded his head.

Sang sat down in the leather chair and readied himself at the keyboard.

Warrick spit the code out piece by piece as The Voice pecked each key in response.

"P…A…M…2...I…M…1...A…M…0...W…A…T" As he finished the last letter he flashed a look at Tina, trying to convey a lifetime's worth of information in a single motion. This is it. I have a plan. Be ready. _I love you. Please trust me._

Her response was a subtle quieting of her struggles as she fixed her amber colored eyes on him. Her head made an almost imperceptible nod.

Sang hit enter at the end of the recitation of the code and sat staring avidly at the computer screen. The screen flashed once, then a stream of code started filling the screen, bit by bit, pixel by pixel until the screen was a swarm of glowing flashing alphanumeric characters. Sang's hands tightened on the arms of his chair as he leaned closer to the computer, horror dawning on his face. The lights in the room flickered; once, twice, then went off and stayed off.

Then all Hell broke loose.

* * *

Nick swallowed the last cold tablet after the little pack rat ran outside to fill his cup again. The water did very little to rinse the foul taste out of his mouth, as he kept from spitting and rinsing in the hopes it would not trigger another bout of throwing up. The nausea was still a lingering problem, but he ignored it as the tingling sensations having grown exponentially in his extremities over the past hour or so. Nick set the cup down before he dropped it; the tremble in his right hand more pronounced than ever. He managed to splash more water on his face and chin than anything else. 

He felt his eyes drift closed as the heat emanating from the newly built fire grew in the rickety stove. The smoke signal would be like a huge waving flag for his expected guests of honor. It had taken Kenny a good twenty minutes to create the small heat source. It was amazing; the pack rat could create cutting edge technology, but had no common sense when it came to something as simple as burning wood. The few minutes of hoped for solace were rudely interrupted by the loud noise of Kenny running around the cabin, banging doors and creating an annoying ruckus.

"You need to get goin'," Nick growled, a little more forcefully than appropriate. The growing perturbation was just wreaking havoc on his frayed nerves, and the little bugger needed to hightail it out of the cabin.

"I'm leavin', Man. I don't want to stick around for the ..." Kenny let his thoughts trail off. The word 'slaughter' was quickly doused. He picked up his items and dropped them on the cot next to the ailing CSI.

Nick raised an eyebrow at the heavy black skillet unceremoniously heaped next to him, Kenny's darting eyes barely making contact with him.

"Thing's heavy. You might be able to whack someone pretty good with it." Kenny shrugged and rummaged through his pockets as he nervously viewed the door as the minutes ticked along. "Here." Kenny tossed the epi-pen into Nick's lap; the idea that he was rid of the thing was quite obvious.

Nick shook his head knowing the little man was glad to be unloaded of 'that' responsibility. He pocketed the item into his jeans and nodded at his companion. "Thanks." He was going to add a few more urging parted words, but a cough ripped through his sore lungs leaving him struggling for air.

Kenny hesitated by the door as he watched Nick bend over, hacking terribly, his mouth open and gasping. At first the little guy thought this was it, another breathing attack, but Nick's face slowly relaxed. He didn't pull himself upright, but stayed in a slumped position on his cot. Kenny lingered a few moments more, then yanked open the door; he chewed on his lips, basking in the fresh air outside. Any more delaying tactics were quashed when Nick's scratchy, but adamant voice gave him the needed kick out the door.

"Get outa here, Man...Now!"

Kenny Longman disappeared into the fading sun, the sound of the door banging closed the last real noise in the cabin. Nick studied it for a few minutes and ran his right hand over his face trying to wake up from the constant lethargy that had settled itself into his aching body. He cocked his head to the side as he studied the black beat up frying pan. It was a good thought and one he would keep in mind.

Nick kept staring at the stove, at the dying embers of the wood burning and releasing the much sought after heat. Some of the wood stuck out of the stove, since all Kenny did was shove pieces of broken up logs in any haphazard way. There was almost an art to it. The guy had no idea how to build a fire, but it still worked. Heat was heat.

Nick heard the soft sound of a running engine; as he suspected a car had driven up the rocky thing they called a driveway.

_Well, that didn't take long_, he mused darkly. Less than an hour to come roaring over. Nick only prayed it gave Warrick the needed assistance.

He took a deep breath, forced it out of his tight-feeling chest, the razorblades currently slicing up the inside of his lungs almost creating another coughing fit. Nick staggered to his feet, broken left hand nestled along his stomach as he unsteadily stumbled over towards the stove.

A heavy skillet was a clumsy weapon. After throwing the pigskin around, baseball was more his thing in college. Nick grabbed the end of one of the longer pieces of wood and dislodged it from its death. The chunk of wood was about as long as his arm, somewhat easier to hoist and swing. The end was still on fire, and he hoped somewhat menacing. He stood there in the most upright position he could manage, his heart beating painfully, his breathing faster and much more shallow then it needed to be.

The front door squeaked opened, nothing stealthy about how it was pushed ajar. Nick kept his eye on the entrance as he waited to face the goon whose bravado was more than obvious from the 'through the front door approach'. Nick tightened his grip on his primitive weapon as Madame Chu sauntered in, her eyes canvassing the squat room for exit points and undoubtedly the whereabouts of his partner.

Nick sought out any advantage, anything he could use against her. Brute strength if he'd had it, just didn't seem like it would cut the mustard with this vile woman. He felt if he was on all cylinders that Chu would prove to be formidable, but not an impossible opponent. Just because the enemy was female did not mean she wasn't lethal. Undoubtedly she was skilled, and confident. Nick thought of himself as in shape, and fairly strong. Given the war he was already waging internally though, he just didn't know how much of his resources were available at this moment.

Nick hoped the woman's tight-fitting black leather pants slowed her reflexes down. There was a reason why people practiced martial arts training in loose fitting sweatpants. Her very high stiletto heels would play into his hand; no one could be very quick in those damn things and her balance would be off for sure.

Chu took both gloved hands and adjusted her hair as if this was just a casual chance meeting. She played around with one of her decorative hairpins and tucked a few loose strands out of her eyes, her dark red lips forming another twisted smile.

"I saw Mr. Longman along the side of the road. My two comrades will make quick work of him. If he thinks he can elude them in the woods he's sadly mistaken. The little thief was too stupid to stay hidden."

Nick didn't waste any of his precious breath with her baiting. He cursed Kenny for being so idiotic. The pack rat had evaded The Voice's men for too long to be so dumb about being out in the open like that. Nick adjusted his feet, and tried not to give away how off-balance he felt from just standing. Chu cocked an eyebrow as she circled him around his right side. She stalked him like prey, her irises glittering like the bright eyes of a predator. Nick moved along with her, keeping the woman in front of him.

"Where's Mr. Brown?"

Nick kept silent.

Chu tilted her head. "Did he leave you?" She peered at the CSI, her smile revealing two rows of perfect white teeth. She made a point to place her right hand over her mouth as she giggled again; the sound made Nick's teeth clench.

"Poor Mr. Stokes. He went after his precious wife and left you to die all alone. Or maybe he thought he could work out a deal. Highly unlikely." Her laughter filled the room as she dropped her gloved hand from her lips. "I'm very impressed you are still even alive. I know my little pens have kept you up and running, but they would not have been enough. Not sure what you came up with, but I'm glad you're still on your feet, so to speak. I look forward to hearing you scream and beg me to kill you quickly."

The giggle in her voice was gone as Chu stopped, her back to the kitchen and sole focus on him. Her dark eyes narrowed, her mouth formed a thin straight line. Her next words were not husky, or taunting. They were just plain evil.

"I'm going to make you pay for your dishonor," she seethed, right before she lunged at him, her quickness and agility a surprise to the ill-equipped CSI.

Nick brought up his fire-bat and swung just in time to get a glancing blow across the left side of her face, sending the woman staggering backwards. She let out a shocked cry, her hand grabbing her jaw. Nick's instincts wanted him to back off, but his brain was screaming to stay on the offensive. He stepped forward to keep up with the assault, rearing his right arm back to land a more impressive blow.

Chu blocked the hit with her left arm, grunting when the wood slammed along the bones there. Nick didn't let up and brought the wood down on her again, the rush of air stirring the flames and causing them to roar to life.

Her arm connected again, protecting her body, the fire singing her black shirt. While she used her left forearm as a shield pushing forward, she grabbed Nick's injured left wrist with her right hand.

Nick could not pull up his makeshift bat for another swing as the woman used her weight to keep it in place, like two warriors sword fighting. Nick was about to jab at her instead when the doctor grabbed his left wrist yanking it hard and pulling it upwards.

Nick let out a howl of pain and dropped his crude weapon, the flames consuming the dry wood as it rolled away. The physician twisted his hand at a sharp angle holding it in midair. Nick flailed for several moments his right hand grabbing at her hand, as he valiantly tried to pry away her fingers. Chu was in total control of the game as she flexed Nick's hand back, the broken bones grating on one another.

Hot fiery pain tore through his hand, wrist, and down his arm. With his condition already weak, the splitting agony sent him down to his knees. He gasped as Chu toyed with his wrist now, bending it from side to side, her cold eyes lighting up in glee as he panted for breath. She towered over him now, her left arm resting along her body as she simply kept his hand taut in the air, the muscles pulling at the broken bones.

"I'm surprised you even tried to hit me, Mr. Stokes. You seemed too damn gentlemanly to do so," she sneered.

Nick cried out, his eyes screwed shut as he tried to stand again to release his imprisoned hand. Chu just smiled, pulling harder at his attempt, keeping him down to the ground.

Nick peeled open his eyes, "I-won't hit a woman...I will---fight an evil--bitch like yourself," Nick grunted.

"That's your place, down there on the ground begging," she growled at his response. Making direct eye contact she smiled. "The hand does have the most bones in the body. You still have some left intact."

She giggled again as she adjusted her fingers and snapped his hand at a 90 degree angle, the sounds of more bones cracking filling in the silence before Nick screamed. Using the pain to channel his energy his right fist connected across her jaw, Chu's head snapping back from the impact.

The vile woman abruptly let go of his injured wrist as Nick cradled it to his stomach, a soft sob escaping his lips. Nick managed a somewhat stooped-over standing position and punched Chu again along her pale left cheek, her grunt of astonishment a satisfying sound. He kept his left hand tucked along his belly as he grabbed her long hair and pulled hard, sending the athletic woman into the far wall with a thud.

Nick felt his head pound, another symptom of his decreased flow of oxygen. Time was of the essence if he was going to knock the woman out; he needed to do so quick and, if needed, be brutal. Nick charged hoping to grab her throat and cut off her air supply long enough for her to pass out. Part of his mind felt like the payback would be only a small taste of his past several grueling hours. Nick sought out his target, as Chu brought up a knee and slammed it into his groin.

The overwhelming agony of the assault dropped him like a dead weight. He tried to avoid the instinct to curl up into a ball as fire tore through his lower region, the urge to throw up overwhelming. He gagged, as the pain blinded his already fuzzy mind. The primitive part of his brain somehow made him slither away, a hand and knee at a time, away from the attack. He put pressure on his already destroyed wrist and the added flare of white hot pain jolted him out of falling into the black tunnel of unconsciousness.

He crawled one-handed towards the kitchen. Nick thought he heard the crackle pop of some strange noise outside the pounding of his heart, but ignored it as she stalked after him towards the counter area.

Chu glanced back over her shoulder to see the wooden plank catching the cot on fire, the flames eating away at the dingy fabric. One hand rubbed her cheek and jaw, as she spatblood on the floorfrom his punches, while the other fixed her hair. She raised an eyebrow in mild annoyance "Looks like I won't be able to play with you as much as I had hoped for."

Nick felt the side of his body bump the edge of the counter, the evil woman looming over him. He turned until his back was against the cabinet; he would face whatever things the monster had in store for him. His lower body was a mass of chaos, but not enough of a distraction from his increasing level of respiratory distress. The antihistamine was fading from his system, the internal battle raging on, one side losing. He tried to ignore how his chest began to crush him from the inside. It was like he was being squeezed to death, the razorblades morphing into stabbing pains at every ragged breath. He was getting lightheaded, but he shoved that feeling away for later.

The torturer kneeled in front of him so they were each at eye level. "In my country failure is not an option. We live to serve our lord and any miscue is severely punished." She grabbed Nick's chin with her right hand to force his attention. "You owe me something."

Nick wrenched his head away breaking the contact. He glared at her coldly, trying to gain enough oxygen to speak. "You...were one of those kids...who destroyed her Barbie dolls…weren't you?" He laughed, ignoring the thunder clouds in the woman's' features.

The evil doctor took her right hand and peeled away the black leather glove covering her left one. Dramatically she removed the garment to reveal her delicate fingers. Her last one, the pinky, was missing, leaving a small stump covered by gauze caked with dark red dried blood. Nick's eyes went wide from what he was staring at.

"Every mistake one makes requires the loss of a finger. Your little escape was my first ever failure," she said in a clipped anger-laced tone. She peered down at Nick. "It's time you returned my honor," she hissed.

Nick felt the need to back up, but there was nowhere to wiggle away. Chu reached into her leather pants, removing a switchblade knife from one of the hidden pockets. Nick had no clue how she managed to hide something in such restrictive clothing.

"Time to pay the piper."

Nick felt his adrenaline swell through his body at those chilling words and their underlying meaning. Chu stood up, grabbing a handful of sweatshirt as she hoisted Nick to his feet. "Up we go," she cooed. Her four-fingered left hand tugged on more of his shirt, and she used all of her strength to manhandle Nick into standing.

Nick wavered slightly but was not given any reprieve as the woman flung him around and pushed his chest forward. She took her left arm and pressed down her full weight over his back allowing the edge of the counter to dig into his diaphragm. The counter blew out any remaining oxygen from his air-starved body. Chu slammed down his right hand along the counter top, her blade poised to strike. She struggled to keep his upper body pinned and his right hand still long enough to slice away one of his fingers.

"You care which one gets lopped off, do you?" she teased.

Nick began to try to buck up; anything to dislodge her. Normally he would simply overpower her, using his weight and strength to his advantage. However, he was already getting dizzy from lack of air and she was using every ounce of energy to keep his body trapped painfully along the edge.

He felt the cold steel blade begin to press down on his index finger as she got ready to plunge it all the way across.

"Of course, I won't stop at just one."

Nick screamed as she began to inflict her revenge, the sounds of the ratty cot being consumed by flames in a big whooshing sound mixing in with the life and death struggle just a few feet away.

* * *

tbc... 


	18. Chapter 18

* * *

He heard a scream from the last place he had seen Tina. Not a scream of pain or fear - rather a primal yell of violence and aggression. Knowing Sang was for the moment the lesser physical threat he lunged his body in her general direction, eyes still not accustomed to the all-encompassing blackness.

In Vegas, you could read a book in most places without the lights on, the neon of the strip practically bright enough to see from space. Up here in the mountains, no lights meant no light. Total and complete, black as pitch, see no hand in front of your face darkness.

He heard rustling and grunting and a pain-filled "oof" as he stumbled his way over to his wife who was now apparently wrestling with her captor. He swung his arms wildly in the air, expecting to meet the form of Number One Goon, finding only empty space. As his foot connected with a form on the ground he realized that its solid mass was that of the thug, curled up on the ground, knees hugged to his chest.

Warrick reared a booted foot back and launched his foot, aiming for the game winning field goal. Foot connected with what could only be the man's rock hard skull, maybe the jaw, thank God for steel-toed boots, and the figure groaned and laid back, no further sound coming from him.

The next contact he felt was the warm soft flesh of his wife, her head buried into his armpit, as she trembled and shivered. He wrapped an arm around her and held her tight for a moment.

That was when the lights came back on.

Sang could have fled. He could have been out the door and hiding in a myriad of places or headed for the garage. Next stop McCarran Airport, flying to some exotic locale where he most likely had another of these godforsaken places set up.

Instead, the man who taunted and derided Warrick for the emotional weaknesses he perceived was overcome by the fatal flaw that had been the downfall of men throughout history. Hubris.

Sang stood frozen with anger, denial having wrapped its tentacles around his heart and mind as he stared at the computer screen. With the return of the power the screen now showed the laughing face of Kenny Longman, a shit-eating grin on his face and one well gnawed on finger thrust forward in the sign that every culture in the world would recognize.

Warrick took several long strides across the room and grabbed up The Voice by his bathrobe, shoving his face in mere inches away as his eyes shone with adrenaline and fury.

"Not so much the Big Man now, are you? Huh? All your precious information, all your blackmail material… it's all fucked! You underestimated the 'little thief' didn't ya? And you underestimated me _and _my partner! Look at you! Just a scared little man in his bathrobe and slippers. Where's your video? Where's your _connections_? Who has the power now, you sick son of a bitch!"

Spittle covered Sang's face as he struggled in the enraged CSI's grasp, but Warrick's fingers only tightened in the folds of silken fabric. He was just winding up.

"I oughta strap you to a chair and stick needles in _your_ flesh and see what kinda shit _you give_ up!"

A warm hand on his shoulder brought him back down a notch and he looked down to see Tina's anxious tear-stained face staring at him. She pulled gently on his arm, trying to pull him away. "There are more of them, Warrick. C'mon. Let's go."

When he failed to relinquish his grip she spoke more forcefully. "C'_mon_, Rick. I want to leave here. Now!"

Warrick nodded slowly in understanding. "Sorry, Babe. It's just …"

"I know. C'mon." She waited, hand on his arm until he pulled his hands free and shoved Sang backwards away from him.

"We can't leave him here. He'll call in the troops." He looked around the room, then his eyes lit up with their own sadistic glee as they alighted on the expensive silk robe Sang wore. Warrick reached out and ripped the belt off the man, then gestured at him towards the chair, not trusting the release the use of his voice would give him.

Sang shook his head, the remnants of the former pride still shining in his cold dark eyes as he fixed a baleful glare at his former victim.

"This is not defeat. This is a battle lost, but the war will continue, Mr. Brown. I _will_ rally my troops, and I _will_ rebuild my network, and there will be a reckoning, of this I guarantee. _It is precisely when a force has fallen into harm's way that is capable of striking a blow for victory."_

Warrick shook his head, staring down at the small man standing in front of him, fists clenched in impotent rage, shaking with anger. Powerless.

"You really are the Wizard of Oz, you sick little man. Hiding behind your curtain of two-bit hoods and ill-gotten information. You're nothing now. The curtain is gone. And you stand there shaking in your slippers. I pity you. You're nothin' but a paper tiger. Now get in that chair!"

When he saw the Asian make no move towards the chair he grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and propelled him towards the desk. As Sang caught the computer screen and Kenny's face still leering at him he averted his gaze and began mumbling in Chinese.

His body unceremoniously shoved down into the computer chair, Sang sat quietly as Warrick tied the man's hands behind the chair. He eyed the now slightly struggling man and weighed his options. His choice became clear as Sang looked up, triumph reflected in his ice-cold eyes.

"Mr. Longman left your friend to die, Mr. Brown. In the foolish phone call he made he told my associate that Mr. Stokes had stopped breathing. I'm quite surprised he lasted as long as he did. It would appear that _he _was the stronger one. I hope your decision weighs well with you, Mr. Brown. You gave up your friend's life to secure that of your wife and Mr. Longman. In battle, a general must face the sacrifice of some for the good of the war. Tell _that_ to Mr. Stokes' family!"

Warrick's chest heaved in anger and guilt, recognizing the possible - no probable- truth to those words. Anger simmered and reached its boiling point, released by the rearing back of his fist as he slammed it home in Sang's face. Along with the fist he spat furious words, words he'd heard a hundred times from his Grams and at church. And in time-honored tradition, as he took out the Big Bad he hurled a one-liner at him.

"You like the quoting so much? How about _Pride goeth before a fall_!"

Fist met jaw and Sang whirled around in the computer chair, his chin now resting on his chest, dead to the world.

Warrick massaged his sore knuckles and winced at the new pain in his already blown shoulder. "Some Old Testament on your ass," he mumbled at the man.

Tina gave him a small sad smile, then pulled him towards the door.

Once outside they hit the garage, finding two more Cherokees and several import sedans. After squeezing the remote he'd found earlier he saw the taillights flash on one of the SUVs and he and Tina crawled in tiredly.

The garage opener in its usual place on the visor, a quick push of the button and the nighttime sky appeared behind the ascending door. He revved the engine up and threw it into reverse, peeling out of the garage and hitting the gravel road.

Adrenaline still hummed throughout his exhausted body, and he turned the heat on in the truck as soon as it had warmed up, both he and Tina shivering in the brisk January night, his exacerbated by the sheen of sweat covering his body. His shirtfront was soaked and he pulled the cold fabric away from his chest.

He glanced over at Tina where she huddled in the passenger seat. He snuck a hand off the wheel and placed it on her arm, her hand finding his as he gave it an earnest squeeze.

"Is Nick really…dead, Warrick?" she asked, tears welling in her eyes in sorrow for her husband.

"I don't know, Babe. Last I saw him he was in rough shape. And Kenny left him…"

"Who's Kenny?"

He sighed and shook his head. So much to tell her… "Kenny's an old friend. And, honestly, the reason behind all of…this." Words couldn't even begin to encompass what had happened.

"I promise, I'll tell you everything…_everything_ about what happened and why. Are you all right? Did any of his men touch you?" He realized with horror it was the first he had asked after her well being since their flight from the house.

She shook her head. "I got a call from someone at work, asking me to come in to cover a shift. I knew you were on so I figured I'd pick up the over time." Her voice began to shake as she told him what happened.

"I was, um, getting ready to go, had my keys in my hand…Oh, Warrick- they took the Sebring!"

Warrick squeezed her hand again in sympathy. The convertible was his wife's baby. "Don't worry, Babe. That's what we have insurance for. G'on."

He wanted to look at her as she spoke but the road was treacherous and he didn't want to miss the turnoff to the cabin.

Tina cleared her throat and began again, holding on to his hand tighter as she continued her tale. "I was about to leave, my hand on the door when these men showed up. At first they tried to tell me they were bill collectors, but when I asked to see their ID they got all nervous. I shut the door and turned the lock but they broke through and grabbed me and threw me into a their car. One of them grabbed my keys and took my car behind us."

Her voice grew more tremulous as she tried to maintain her composure. "They put something over my eyes, and what felt like hours later they stopped the car and brought me into this room. I've been there ever since until the man came and brought me to where you were. Who was that man, Rick? Why would he do this?"

I promise, Tina. I'll tell you everything. But I need you to help me right now. I left Nick and Kenny in a hunting cabin off this road. Now, I need to keep an eye on the road. You've gotta help me keep an eye out for the trail that leads to it. I'm sorry, Babe. I know you deserve better than this but Nick… Oh, god, Tina- he's so bad off. We need to get back there."

Tina sat forward, her years as an ER nurse making her response automatic. "What's wrong with him?"

"He got bit by a scorpion -" He saw her mouth gape open out of the corner of his eye and shook his head angrily. "Don't ask. We've been keeping him alive with epi-pens and cold pills but he's doin' real bad, Tina. Real bad."

"How many pens?" she asked, her brow wrinkling in concern.

"Two so far when I left. He probably had to use the third while I was gone."

"Oh, Rick…that many pens… what kind of cold pills? Yours? Did they have an antihistamine in them?"

"Yeah. A little. Just over the counter crap. Nothin' like he needs, I know. That's why…Oh, shit."

"What?"

"Lights. Up ahead. I saw headlights flash through the trees further up the road. Looks like we got company. Headed straight for us."

* * *

Nick glued his eyes shut in concentration and shoved backwards with all of his might, pushing off of the countertop with his hands. Both their screams mingled together and Nick managed to spin around as the woman regained her balance. She swung at him with the blade in wild anger. Nick snagged her swinging hand with his uninjured right one and then slammed his knee upwards into her belly.

Nick heard her loud exhale as she lost her breath and bent over stunned. He never let go of her hand, keeping the weapon away from him as he brought his knee into her stomach two more times. Feeling the momentum shift and his breathing all the while getting worse, he used his remaining power to grab a hold of the back of her neck and slung her face down, slamming her into his kneecap, blood spurting out of her nose from the impact.

The switchblade tumbled out her grasp to the floor as Nick stayed hunched over, staggering away from the doctor. His mind screamed at him to find the knife, but he had other worries. His breath hitched in his throat, raspy struggles for oxygen fighting his constricted airway. If he had a mirror, his reflection would show his strangled red face as he clawed at his throat.

The fire from the cot now spread along the old wooden floor and began to rip over the ceiling and wall facing the way to the stream. Not only was his body breaking down as it struggled for air, the source of the vital oxygen was becoming tainted with choking carbon monoxide and fumes from the flames. He patted down his jeans for his last epi-pen, fingers searching the depths of his pockets. He had barely pulled it out when someone tackled him from behind, knocking him down, the precious pen clattering to the floor.

He felt a hard jab to his kidneys from an elbow, but the pain was nothing like his fight for air. He was like a wild animal, his fist connecting with the side of his attacker's face as he swung away in desperation. Nick was on his hands and knees, terrible hacks and noises escaping his closed up throat. Madame Chu scrambled for the epi-pen, snatching it away just inches from his fingers. He was seeing stars and had nothing left to lose but lunge at the woman who held on to his salvation.

Nick slammed his shoulder along her small frame, knocking her from her crouched position smack flat on her back to the floor. He wrestled her for the epi-shot, but his arms and hands were no longer working quite right. His coordination was off, the outlines of his vision turning dark gray around the edges. Soon he was hunched over, the fight for the medication over. He lacked the energy to move or get up from the floor. He pulled at his shirt collar with shaky hands. Then he felt the woman sneak up behind him and strong arms wrapped around his own, keeping them pinned in place.

Madame Chu held Nick from behind, her hot breath at the nape of his neck as she whispered into his ear. "There, there, Darling. Not much longer now."

The sociopathic woman cradled him with all the false platitudes of a comforter, rocking him back and forth from behind. He saw the epi-pen in her right hand, keeping it in plain sight for him to observe, while she kept his arms immobile.

Chu planted slow, vile kisses along his sweat-drenched neck and shoulder. "So rare that I get to watch the life slip away from someone."

Nick felt anger swell from the pit of his belly as he tried to dislodge the woman, whose grip tightened around him. He groaned as he inched his right hand between his belly and her imprisoning arm. He turned his hand just enough to squeeze her left one, purposely pressing down on the area of her chopped off pinky. She screamed, dropping the badly needed medication. Nick foolishly thought the Chu would attend to her injury, instead of focusing the anger back at him.

As soon as he leaned forward to scoop up the lost epi-pen with a violently trembling right hand, he felt the woman's arm snake around his throat, as her other bleeding hand wrapped strongly over his head in the opposite direction.

"You're going to fucking die now."

Nick knew she was going to twist and break his neck when he heard the sound of metal on bone. Instead of snapping his vertebrae, Chu staggered to the left. Nick could not see or think straight. But he distinctly heard Kenny Longman's voice through the buzzing in his head.

"Take that, Bitch!"

Nick was too out of it notice the pack rat holding on to the black skillet, nor the room fill with dark smoke.

"Come on, Dawg. This place is all on fire! I could barely get in the door."

Nick tried to unwrap the shot with quivering hands, unaware of his enemy crawling away. Kenny was yelling at him to get up and leave when he heard a primal banshee-like scream that hurt his ears. What he didn't comprehend was Chu launching herself at Kenny and knocking him down. Blade in hand she sliced the small man's shoulder sending blood streaming down his body. Kenny didn't have time to get another swing with the heavy cooking pan as she assailed the little geek with unmitigated fury.

Kenny tried to dodge her deadly strike, screaming as the blade sliced down his arm. Chu was backing the pack rat into a corner, the knife swinging in wild arcs as her blinding anger made her miss the next few times. Nick got the plastic tip off the pen, his thumb on the pressure trigger. All he needed to do was thrust it into his thigh and the relief would allow his lungs to expand. Somewhat dazed, he watched as Kenny unsuccessfully blocked the now deranged woman's' attacks. It was unlikely Kenny had the ability to stop her, and Nick was fading faster than a severed artery.

With what felt like only seconds of air still in his lungs he stumbled forward towards the fight before him. Chu turned to see his uncontrolled gait towards her and smiled, blood running down her face from  
the fight. She took her blade and aimed it at Kenny's neck.

Nick made a snap and natural decision and barreled into her. He slammed the epi-pen into her chest, pressing the trigger, straight into her heart. Nick watched in morbid fascination as her eyes dilated unbelievably wide, her hands clutching at her breast where the pen stuck out like a dagger. She croaked out unintelligible words as she stumbled around until she fell. Her body twitched and Nick collapsed to the ground next to her.

Kenny held his hand to the cuts on his arm, but was relieved to find them not very deep, just scary looking. He twisted his head to see how the fire now blocked the path to the front door, the room filling with acid- like smoke. He stared down at Nick, not knowing if the guy was dead or not. He bent down to slap the CSI's face, muttering to himself.

"Why'd you do that, Dawg? Why?" He shook Nick by the shoulders, his high-pitched tone like nails on a chalkboard. He panicked, trying to rouse the CSI awake.

"No, don't do this, Man! Don't fucking do this to me!"

Kenny saw two hazy, unfocused eyes open up at him in confusion. Noting the fire heading their way, Kenny pulled Nick up, barely getting him to his feet as he practically dragged the man into the other smaller room. He closed the door, both of them collapsing to the floor. Nick lay on his back, his working right hand grasping at his throat. His mouth hung open, the shrill noises from the depths of his chest unlike anything Kenny had ever heard.

The small man stared at the door knowing he might be able to run fast enough past the flames at the entrance into the chilly air. His hand reached the doorknob, his escape plan routed in his head, as he crashed through the door, head looking back at the ill man's last gasps for breath. Changing his mind about bailing, he grit his teeth as he searched for something. Kenny kept low to the ground and sought out what he needed from the tiny end table near the far corner.

The cabin was now a boiler room. Just a scarce time ago it had been like an icebox, but now the fire had crossed his path, the orange and yellow flames like ballet dancers leaping along the dry cabin floor. Kenny snatched the inhaler and scrambled back into the tiny bedroom. He slammed the door closed and squatted down at Nick's side. The suffering man's eyes were darting wildly back and forth and Kenny knew there was no way Nick could suck in the mist needed to give him any sort of help. Nick's hands lay limp along his sides, unable to move anymore. Knowing it was almost futile and stupid, Kenny grabbed the CSI's slack jaw and squeezed his mouth open.

His face a mask of ill ease, he stuck the inhaler in and pressed down on the trigger sending the medication into the other man's lungs. Kenny heard the last of the mist fade away and dropped the container. He crouched over the ailing man shaking his shoulders.

"Don't die on me, Dawg! Please, don't die, Nick!"

* * *

tbc... 


	19. Chapter 19

* * *

Warrick risked a glance away from the road to confirm for himself that Tina was buckled in. Reluctantly, he let go of Tina's hand and placed it back on the wheel, his eyes unblinking as he fixed his gaze on the last place he had seen the lights.

Tina's hands tightened on the shoulder strap in fear as she felt her husband step harder on the accelerator. She looked over for reassurance, chilled by the stony expression now fixed on his face.

"Rick-" she started.

Warrick gave a short shake of his head. "Hold on, Babe. We're ending this, once and for all. And we are getting off this fucking mountain." His foot pressed harder on the accelerator, the lights ahead now fully apparent on the road not a hundred yards ahead of them now. He eased the SUV as far to the "safe" side of the road as he could, the tires running off onto the grass and dirt rutted non-existent shoulder.

If he could just catch the car on the driver's side he might be able to push them over the edge of the ravine.

The lights ahead blinked to high beams and Warrick squinted through the blinding halogen light, his eyes tearing as he kept them forced open.

He imagined he could almost see the faces of Sang's reinforcements.

The next thing he saw could not have taken him more by surprise than if Elvis himself had shown up driving a pink Cadillac. The bright red light of a police gumball began to flash from the top of the vehicle.

He gasped in surprise, slamming the brakes down hard, locking them up as the Jeep slued back and forth, fishtailing as the heavy vehicle skidded along the loose gravel.

The Cherokee came to rest across the road, the truck enveloped in a hazy white dust cloud, obscuring all vision through the vehicle's windows.

As soon as he felt the vehicle shudder to a stop he flung open the Jeep's door and stepped out into the night, the blinding high beams and flashing red strobe of the gumball causing him to raise a hand in front of his eyes to defend against the assault.

"Freeze! Las Vegas Police! Put your hands on the vehicle in front of you!"

"Brass!"

The familiar sturdy form of Jim Brass came into view as the dust cloud settled. Someone in what he now saw was a Lab issued Denali shut the high beams off and he lowered his hand in disbelief mixed with sweet relief.

"Jim?" he repeated incredulously.

"Warrick? Jesus, Man are we glad to see you." Brass dropped his service automatic, which had until then been pointed at Warrick's head.

"Who's _we_?"

Jim thrust a thumb back at the Denali where Gil Grissom was exiting the passenger side door, his expression an exact mirror of the disbelief on Warrick's face. His supervisor approached warily, as if afraid to dispel the mirage in front of him.

Jim, on the other hand, had no doubts as to whom he had in front of him. He took several strides forward, drawing up short as Tina opened her door and slowly stepped out. He looked at her trembling form and tear-streaked face, then back at the banged up CSI in front of him.

"Hey, Warrick. You two all right? Is Nick with you?"

Warrick wanted a hand-shaking back -slapping reunion, but knew time was running short. "No. No he's not, Jim. We've gotta get him. I left him at the cabin."

"What cabin, Warrick?" asked Grissom as he joined the two men.

"Down the mountain a bit further. I've got no time to explain. If we don't get there … it may already be too late. Just get in your truck and follow me! And call for a MedEvac!"

Jim and Gil exchanged guarded looks as Warrick ignored them, gesturing to Tina to get back in the car. Once back in himself he revved the Jeep to reverse it back straight across the road. Jim gave a slight shrug, then returned back to the Denali, pulling over to the side to allow the Jeep past them, then pulling in behind them as Warrick took back off down the road.

They hadn't made it but a few hundred yards down the mountain when more lights appeared on the road in front of them. Warrick tightened his hands on the wheel, allowing them to relax only when he noted the light bar on top of the approaching SUV flash blue lights at him. The two trucks pulled to a stop and Brass leaned out his window to yell at Warrick. "They're our guys, Rick! County Sheriffs. We called them to meet us."

Warrick seethed with frustration at being stopped again and shouted angrily at the deputy who was now leaving his truck. "We're wasting time! Move that thing!"

The deputy ignored him and continued to approach the two trucks. Arms folded over his chest as he walked past the Jeep to talk to Brass. The blue lights continued to stab through the darkness as Warrick fumed. He leaned out his window to yell at the deputy again when he heard what was being reported to Brass.

"Rangers station reports a forest fire in the vicinity. Our visit is gonna have to wait, Captain. Gotta get you folks cleared outa here."

Warrick couldn't hear what Jim said to the deputy but he could see the man's face wrinkle in concern. He nodded then strolled back to the waiting Cherokee.

"Captain Brass tells me you got some friends holed up in a cabin nearby? The only place I can think of is the old Sheppard place. Walt didn't make it up here this year on account of his wife having the new baby. It's just a ramshackle place. 'Bout a mile down the road, then in a few miles. That the place?"

Warrick nodded quickly. "Yeah, I got two friends there in some deep trouble. Can we please get moving now?"

The deputy sighed. "See the ranger reported the fire as starting right around there. I can't let--"

Any further statement was drowned out by the growl of the Jeep's engine as Warrick stuck it back in drive and slammed the accelerator down, pulling off the road and around the parked deputy's truck and leaving a gritty cloud in his wake.

Brass flashed the Deputy a "what can you do?" look and put his own truck into gear, waiting to allow the officer to get back to his truck and start it up. They followed the trail of dust the Cherokee kicked up.

The convoy hadn't traveled more than a mile or so down the gravel road when off in the distance the occupants of each could see a light glimmering against the dark night sky as if someone had dropped a casino into the middle of the forest.

Warrick's eyes were fixed on the glow, swearing as he braked, nearly missing the trail. He cut the wheel hard and pulled onto the rutted drive, the tops of trees slapping against the roof of the Cherokee as he gripped the wheel and slammed it through the overgrowth towards the flickering light.

As they entered the small clearing around the cabin his eyes widened at the sight of the tiny building engulfed in flames. The whole area was lit up brightly by the fire, the light from the headlights swallowed up. He took a quick look around the area to see if the guys had gotten out already. No signs of life. But there was the ominous sight of another black Cherokee abandoned in front of the cabin.

He got out and stood staring at the fire, hand in front of his eyes to defend against the glare. There was no way anyone could be alive in there. He took a few steps to the side to get a better look at the back of the cabin. Not yet taken by the beast. He held on to a glimmer of hope that his friends had made it to the temporary safety of the rear, glancing back as the deputy and Brass pulled up to join the parked Cherokee.

Without further hesitation he ran around to the back of the Denali, yelled for Brass to spring the latch on the rear, and opened the door, rifling through the back frantically until his hands finally landed on the object of his desire. The fire extinguisher. Thank God for safety minded Ecklie who had sent out a mandate earlier in the year about the proper equipment each vehicle should carry.

Extinguisher in hand he rushed up to the front door, already ajar from the earlier visit, and entered the inferno.

* * *

Kenny Longman didn't know it, but he was holding his breath, ironic as it was, as he waited for any kind of respiratory response from the man sprawled out in front of him. Inhaler tossed aside, its mist barely inhaled by a low, automatic bodily response of lungs barely able to extract oxygen past a constricted trachea. Kenny shook the unconcious CSI more forcefully, knowing that it took precious seconds for the airborne mist to reach bronchial passages.

Kenny eyed the door fearfully as smoke eerily snaked its way in from the crack between the floor and door. Carbon monoxide began to mix in with the nitrogen and O2 in the small spare bedroom. The pack rat was frozen for a moment as images of roaring flames behind the barrier filled his terrorized mind. Kenny felt his own light-headedness as he barely came to grips with the fact that a psychotic woman had almost slashed him to bits, the blood running down the cuts from his arms a sickening, sticky reminder of how close to death he had come. Perhaps having his throat cut would have been a more merciful fate than suffocating in a cramped room; certainly succumbing to oxygen deprivation was a fate less cruel then burning alive. He blamed a very guilty conscious into tricking him to coming back to help out the sick cowboy, and all for nothing, he thought.

Kenny's brooding was interrupted by a choked coughing next him. His heart beating at a lightning pace, the scrawny man renewed his efforts into reviving the body next to him.

"That's it, Dawg! We got to get outa here!" Kenny encouraged as he shook Nick by the shoulders.

A terrible hacking fit gripped the CSI as his red flushed face somehow got darker, his eyes now squeezed shut as he fought for air. Kenny gnawed at his fingers, his attention fitfully going back and forth between the exit and the struggling man next to him. Through a fog of panic, Kenny pulled Nick upright by his shoulders to aid in his breathing. Nick continued to cough, sucking air in between struggles, his hand weakly pulling at his shirt collar. He wrestled with the garment, yanking the fabric down, digging nails into the flesh of his throat.

"Don't try so hard, Dude. Just...just calm down for a sec," Kenny admonished. He knew that this was no asthma attack, but having suffered breathing episodes, he knew to allow the inhaler time to open up air passages. He didn't know how much the mist might help the guy, but there was no sense in wasting energy, despite the CSI's panic.

Nick's chest heaved, mouth gaped open, body trembling terribly. He looked around wildly at the room and struggled to get to his feet, but was too damned weak to get off the fucking floor. Kenny tried to keep him still, frowning distastefully as his hands made contact with the sweat soaked shirt. He heard the distant roar of flames, and he imagined a wall of fire was coming towards them, their fate now sealed in the stupid spare room.

"There's no place to run, Man! We're trapped."

Nick didn't seem to pay him any attention. Kenny didn't know if the dude was outa his mind from all the crazy scorpion shit, or if his brain was now fried from all the lack of oxygen. Nick managed to get to his knees, intent on crawling towards the door; as soon as Kenny had said the word 'trapped' the CSI tried harder to get away.

"What the fuck are ya doin', you stupid dumb cop?" Kenny insulted, scared to death of the other man's actions.

Nick managed a few feet before simply collapsing back down, his damn wheezing only serving to freak Kenny out even more.

"We're gonna die in here," Kenny cried, arms wrapped around his body as a few tears rolled down his face. He rocked back and forth mumbling. "Gonna die cuz I came back here. Gonna burn cuz you used the pen on that bitch instead of on yourself. Stupid, Cowboy. Should have saved yourself." Kenny began to choke up. His own breathing became labored from the toxin-filled room and his own bouts with asthma.

He shook uncontrollably, knowing the end was near. Never in his worst nightmares could he have imagined a worse fate then to croak in a fire, his only company a white guy who couldn't die quietly.

Kenny shut his eyes; if he didn't see the fire consume the room, then maybe he could ignore it the last few moments he had. Just as he prepared for the inevitable, he heard the sweetest thing his ears could have dreamed for... A voice.

"Nick! Where are you?... … Kenny?"

Kenny leapt up, spurred by the thought that a rescue was taking place. He tripped over Nick, and then thought sadly the CSI had the right idea to stay low to the ground, even if it wasn't by choice.

"We're in here!" he yelled, his voice scratchy from invisible poisonous fumes.

"Kenny!"

"In the back room!"

Kenny squatted next to the other man, body shaking as he heard strange bursts of noise and then the door was kicked open. The wooden panel just missed striking both guys huddled next to it.

"Thank God!" Warrick said crouching down.

Kenny latched onto Warrick's shoulder. "Get us outa here, Man!" he beseeched.

A strong hand clamped down on the skinny guy's shoulder and piercing green eyes locked with his. "Calm down. I've got a fire extinguisher. I'll lead the way."

Warrick bent down and with a slightly trembling hand felt Nick's carotid, an audible sigh escaping his lips. "Nick, can you hear me, Man?"

"Ricky! Please!" Kenny was on the verge of hyperventilating with short-circuited nerves. After a beat, he tried to calm. "Dude's alive, Man, he's just actin' all freaky." It had just occurred to him that the annoying wheezing had mixed with disjointed words too garbled to make out.

Warrick placed his ear over Nick's mouth to listen to his respiration. A weak hand shot up and clawed at his arm. Warrick's expression turned into a mixture of fear and slight relief. He shot Kenny an explosive glare.  
"Where's that epi-pen, Man! For Christ's sake," Warrick blurted, obviously frightened at Nick's state.

Kenny's eyes widened at the insinuation of the question, anger with guilt leaching into his tone. "Dude used it on that bitch, Man." Kenny's fragile grip on his emotions cracked, moisture escaping his eyes. "He fuckin' stabbed her with it to save me!" he yelled with a mixture of resentment and awe.

Warrick bowed his head in understanding as he ran through a slew of curses over Nick's gallantry, although it sounded exactly like something his friend would do. Knowing time was of the essence he bent down to give his buddy encouragement to hang on just a little longer.

"It's okay, Nicky." Warrick pulled up the CSI by his stretched shirt collar. The awful sounds coming from Nick's throat were like pieces of sandpaper scratching together. If it had been an animal creating those pitiful noises, a decent man would have shot it and put the thing out of its misery.

Warrick turned to Kenny as he struggled to wrap Nick's arm around his shoulder. "A'ight, let's get out of here. You gotta listen to me though. This thing only sprays a small field."

Kenny nodded as Warrick held out the small extinguisher in front of him. "Help me bring Nick out. Drape him between us, and I'll lead the way."

Both men grabbed a side of the nearly unconscious Texan, and braced for the race out of the cabin.

"Try to hold your breath!" Warrick warned as he launched forward, spraying fire suppressant in front of him.

The fire had reached a crescendo, flames surrounding them, but it wasn't an impenetrable wall of death. Flames licked all around them as the trio forged ahead, smoke, fumes, and flame blocking their vision. For the briefest second the thought of trying to find the woman crossed each of their minds, but the inability to navigate kept the trio stumbling ahead. The voices of other frantic people could be heard shouting their names. It was like navigating a sea of acid like fog, the smoke irritating their throats and gagging the natural intake of air.

It seemed like the longest few seconds ever, but soon they were through the door and into the merciful outside. The inferno blazed all over the tiny cabin, its wrath already consuming the nearby trees. If the men had dared a backwards glance, they would have seen mother nature being ravaged by the destruction, the tree limbs above spreading death to dried out woods.

* * *

_Keep walking. One foot in front of the other. C'mon. Almost there. _It was a mantra Warrick kept mumbling as he staggered under Nick's weight while simultaneously emitting short bursts of the extinguisher and trying to stay on his feet despite the choking smoke and fumes. He wasn't sure if the words were for him or his partner who was now unresponsive. Unless you count the slow mewling squeak of air that came from his gaping open mouth with alarming irregularity.

As the cold mountain air struck his lungs he collapsed to his knees in the midst of a coughing fit, Nick's body dropped unceremoniously next to him as Kenny joined him, hugging his chest as he was wracked with his own rib stretching hacking. A rush of commotion surrounded them as feet pounded the ground next to his head and hands grabbed his shoulders, pulling him up and half dragging him further from the fire. The sear of heat faded from his back as they put more distance between the men and the blaze, which had now expanded well into the neighboring woods.

Someone had gotten Nick and Kenny as well and they were now back at the trucks, the heat from the blaze no longer ominous and painful. Now it was a soothing blanket against the cold January night and Warrick wanted nothing more than to curl up in front of this fire and sleep for days.

A smooth hand tapped his cheek lightly and he brought his eyes open to focus on the two glowing chunks of amber in front of him. Tina was looking worriedly into his eyes, and she grabbed a hold of him pulling him up to hold before he could utter a single word, drawing his face to her chest as she knit her fingers into his curls. A moment later she pulled back to join eyes with him again. "You okay?" she asked, concern evident in the tremble in her voice.

"Yeah," he said with a cough and a groan as he straightened. "What about Nick and Kenny? Are they-?"

He looked over to see Kenny was being aided by Brass and the deputy, the small man on the ground propped up against Jim's side as he hacked his guts out. Grissom squatted next to Nick, shaking the fallen man's shoulder lightly, and calling his name repeatedly.

Tina scrambled over, all business now, and began barking orders. "He shouldn't be laying down. Get him into Fowler's - get him sitting partway up and hold him there!" Grissom plunked himself down on the ground and pulled Nick up to lean against his chest.

Warrick crawled over to put a hand on Nick's neck, flashing Grissom with a worried look at the weak and fluttery stuttering pulse beneath his fingers.

"What the hell is wrong with him, Warrick? Is this from the fire?"

"No, Grissom. He got stung by a scorpion. We've been keeping him alive with epipens but …"

Tina pushed him aside, yanking Nick's sweatshirt up and gesturing for Grissom to hold it aloft. She gave a small gasp at the now scabbed over slices from the scalpel that mapped his flesh. She glanced up at her husband who only shook his head softly. She nodded and placed an ear to his chest. The two men held their breath, the only sound Kenny's lingering coughs and the roar and crackle of the fire behind them. A few seconds later she partially sat up, concern rumpling her brow. "He's not moving any air. I hate to do it but, do you have any pens left?"

Warrick shook his head again, the recipient of the final pen most likely a charcoal briquette left behind in the cabin.

"We need something," she said firmly. "What about first aid kits? Check the deputy's truck and the Denali. It's a small hope but …"

Warrick gestured wildly at the deputy who rose and came over to him. "Check your truck and check the Lab's, too! See if you have any epipens. You know what I'm talking about?"

The deputy nodded quickly, about to turn when he felt Warrick's hand on his pant leg. "You call the MedEvac? You got one on the way?"

The deputy gave another short nod. "We got Mercy Flight comin' in. But they can't land anywhere near here. Closest place would probably be the road back there. We'll have to at least get your friend back to the road."

Warrick gave him a grateful look, then returned to find his wife's ear back on Nick's chest, now further up and to the left. She sat up and shook her head with regret. "His heart rate is all over the place. He's probably in ventricular fibrillation. The valves are so worn out they can't keep pace. I'm sorry, Rick… I don't think he'll make it much longer."

He sat back on his haunches, exhaustion attempting to force its will upon his body as he struggled to stay upright and functioning. He shook his head slowly, his jaw left slightly open as he faced the fact that it was all for nothing.

Grissom, ever the supervisor, recognized his man was on the verge of collapse and placed a hand on Warrick's shoulder, shaking it slightly to bring his attention around.

The older man turned to address Tina. "Okay. Heart and lungs. Which is more immediately pressing?"

"His lungs," she said with certainty. "No oxygen, no need for the heart anyway."

"Okay," Grissom said. "He's in anaphylaxis. He needs adrenaline." He looked up at the approaching deputy who waved empty hands in the air and shook his head resignedly. "We have no outside sources of adrenaline. We have to get Nick's body to produce it. There should be a stream around here. Warrick..."

No response as Warrick dazedly stared at the face of his friend, lips blue against alabaster pale skin.

"Warrick!" his supervisor shouted, bringing startled green eyes up. "The stream…where is it? Can we still get to it?"

Warrick nodded slowly. "It runs behind the cabin where the fire hasn't completely spread yet. Why?"

"Just trust me. You and the deputy need to go get water from the stream. Do you have anything to carry it in? Warrick! Stay with me! Nick's life is depending on this! You got him this far-"

"No!" He shook his head angrily. "Nick got himself this far."

Grissom's voice softened. "Ok. Well, now he needs help but I need you with me on this. Bring back as much water from the stream as you can. Empty one of the equipment bags and bring it back full. Go, Warrick! And hurry!"

Given a task he frantically thought might actually aid Nick he scrambled to his feet grabbing up the deputy and running to the back of the Denali. He found a large leather bag and dumped the contents into the back of the truck, rushing around the periphery of the fire with the deputy panting on his heels. By entering the woods and circling around in front of the encroaching blaze they made their way to the burbling stream, their feet splashing as they slipped on the smooth mossy stones.

"Help me fill this thing!"

Each man took one end and they held it under a small crest where the water hit a ridge and cascaded over, forming a deeper more quiet area. The bag filled, Warrick pulled the zipper closed so as to save the precious liquid and they clomped back through the woods, their burden heavy and sloshing between them.

Huffing and puffing, the two men returned to where Grissom and Tina hovered over Nick's still unmoving form.

"What now?" Warrick panted out between gasps for air.

"Open the bag and drop the contents on him."

Warrick's eyes widened but Grissom remained stone-faced serious. "Do it," the supervisor repeated calmly.

The zipper opened the deputy and the CSI turned the bag over dumping several gallons of ice-cold January mountain spring water over Nick's head, face, and chest.

The result was immediate and fueled the hopes of all those around him.

Nick bolted upwards like he'd been hit with a cattle prod, producing a strong, relatively clear, gasped intake of breath as he jackknifed, his knees and chest rising to fold him in half.

He fell back against Grissom's chest hacking and coughing and shivering, but definitely breathing.

He even managed to cough out a weak "Jesus Christ," followed by a few muttered words disparaging the mothers of those who had tried to drown him.

Warrick gave a weak laugh and patted Nick's leg wearily as he sat down on his heels, tears of relief clinging to his lids, threatening to brim over.

He looked at Grissom and shook his head in amazement. "How in Hell did you think to do that?"

Grissom quirked a small smile as he pulled water-beaded glasses off of his face. "During the Napoleonic Wars they used it on soldiers with high fevers to try to jolt the system into kind of re-booting. Figured it might work for this situation. Makes the body produce adrenaline in response to the shock."

Any further lecture was interrupted by six of seven heads immediately lifting upwards to stare at the star filled night sky as the sound of helicopter blades chopped through the silence.

The taillights helped pick out the bird that hovered over the woods, lowering behind the tree line, its position placing it right over the gravel road.

Grissom pulled his head down to catch Warrick's eye. "Looks like his ride is here. Let's get him into the truck and out to the road."

Warrick nodded softly. Shook the leg beneath him again with a bit more force. Red-rimmed brown eyes peeked open, Nick's verbal response quickly cut off by a cough and a grating wheeze.

The tremors were back in full force, though whether from sickness or the fact that he was sopping wet and by now probably hypothermic was one of many questions.

Nick looked around slowly, taking in the fact that Tina was crouched down next to him. His grin was worth a thousand words or more. Tina smiled reassuringly at him. "Yeah, he found me," she said softly.

"Kenny?" he barely managed to croak out.

Warrick spoke up, "Yeah. He's here, too."

"Saved my life…"

"Yeah, well he said the same thing about you. Just relax, Bro. Your ride is coming. Just sit back and let us take the weight now, okay?"

Nick nodded and closed his eyes again, leaning back against his boss. Warrick gave a small smile as he realized Nick probably had no idea Grissom was there and would be shocked as Hell to find himself cradled against the entomologist's chest.

They managed to get Nick to his feet, walking him the few steps to the Denali Jim had revved up and ready to go. They folded Nick into the back, then Warrick walked over and took Kenny's hand, pulling the small man to his feet as he continued to hack and cough. Warrick draped an arm around his shoulders, then for the first time noticed the blood that hadn't shown against the dark brown UPS uniform.

"Kenny? You're bleeding, Bro. What happened?"

"Bitch sliced me up… cowboy took her down when she had the blade to my throat," he managed between coughs.

"Let's get you into the deputy's truck. See if there's room for you on the chopper."

"I never been in a helicopter before," he said with wide eyes that made him look years younger than the man he was.

Warrick shook his head with a small smile. "First time for everything, Bro. C'mon."

Kenny walked back to the truck, the awe-struck grin stuck on his face. Hand on the door he turned suddenly. "Damn! Almost forgot." He stopped as a coughing fit took hold. "There's two of The Voice's thugs in the woods out there. I took 'em on a little bit of a field trip," he finished with a gasp.

"I'll let the deputy know. Somehow, Kenny, I can't work up much worry for them, though," he said with a soft smile.

The deputy back in his truck, the CSI team plus two in the Denali, they pulled off down the drive back to the main road. Warrick cast a look out the back window, staring at the cabin, now little but blackened timbers. It had been their refuge. Like Kenny's hideout so many years ago.

The forest surrounding the tiny building was now fully engaged by the inferno. He shook his head at the thought of the effort it would take the Forestry Service to catch and contain it, the winter having been particularly dry that year. His eyes lingered on the two Cherokees left behind. Thought for a second of going back to rescue at least one of them, since neither he nor Tina had a ride anymore. Then frowned at the thought that he could entertain something so trivial as he felt the weight of Nick's body slumped next to him in the back seat.

* * *

tbc...


	20. Chapter 20

* * *

The Denali took corners at dangerous speeds; Jim Brass floored it as fast as he could considering the twisty curves and dangerous ravine. Warrick tensed in his seat to keep his head from cracking along the passenger side window and he could see the Captain risk fleeting glances at the rear view, his focus getting them to the MedEvac as quickly as possible. Grissom was twisted in his seat, riding shotgun, his pensive expression never leaving the occupants of the backseat.

Nick was dead weight between Tina and his still frantic partner. The ice water jolt that had been a last ditch effort at kicking Nick's system into overdrive left him shivering, the air on full blast making it even frostier in the car. Grissom concluded that his incipient hypothermia was worth it to keep Nick's natural system pumping any amount of adrenaline. Tina agreed, knowing that this was their only shot at keeping him going.

Warrick kept a firm grasp on Nick's shoulder in order to keep him steady and as a sign of constant encouragement. Nick's mouth hung open, his irregular inhalations of air making his partner cringe involuntarily. Tina checked Nick's pulse every few minutes, then would lean over to listen to his airway, her expression of worry increasing at each minute that ticked by.

"Can you tell me anything about the scorpion that stung him?"

Grissom's question earned him a look of confusion and disbelief. Warrick shook his head to clear the cobwebs out, stunned by his boss's apparent curiosity in a time like this. "W-what? No…I mean, I dunno…Why?"

Grissom rubbed briefly at the bridge of his nose with a small sigh. "Identifying the type of scorpion can only give the doctors a clearer picture of what they are dealing with," he explained calmly.

Warrick adjusted slightly in his seat, his eyes darting up, thinking. "Jeez, Gris. I don't really remember; it was dark in that room."

"Please try. Where did it come from? Was it outside? Local, I mean?"

Warrick didn't know if his superior's questions were his lousy attempt to distract him from Nick's fast deterioration since they entered the car, but trusted that the answers might help his partner. He replayed the moments he tried so hard to forget, that hour in the room, a permanent memory never to be erased from his mind. "There was this psycho doctor in the house. She put it on him. She said it was one of the rarest ones, from Asia, I think," he said with an angry headshake.

Tina flushed, furious at knowing that the person responsible for this was someone who was supposed to heal people.

Grissom's expression was one of deep concentration. "Dark colored body?"

Warrick squeezed Nick's shoulder when the sounds escaping his throat became less frequent, rousing him gently closer back to consciousness.

"Dark," Warrick answered with a clipped tone. His eyes met those of his wife. The corner of Tina's lip quivered as her hand rested on Nick's carotid.

Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe Gil Grissom was trying to distract himself in order to feel useful in an absolutely helpless situation.

"Go faster," Warrick barked at Brass.

"Warrick, I need more. What about its pincers?"

"Its what?" he asked incredulously.

"The claws on the front. Like a lobster's. Were they big or small, in proportion to its body?"

"I don't… I… small. Yeah, small. Does that help?"

Grissom sighed. "Generally, the smaller the pincers the more potent the venom. The scorpion doesn't need large pincers if the sting does the job fast and well enough. Sounds like genera _Buthotus_."

"Yeah, I think that's what she said," Warrick affirmed.

He didn't have time to see the solemn expression on the entomologist as the truck came to an abrupt stop as they reached their destination.

The whirlwind to get Nick out of the SUV and into the hands of the awaiting medics was a blur of motion. Without realizing it his partner was laid on a stretcher, his wife, his beautiful, wonderful wife relaying to the emergency crew all the things his exhausted brain couldn't get his mouth to express in words. He stood there frozen as they worked on his partner, stabilizing him for the ride to the hospital. A quick look over showed another medic giving Kenny oxygen and helping him into the waiting chopper. His childhood friend turned to look back at him, giving him a thumbs up and a nod, then was gone from view.

Warrick felt arms around his waist, sweet lips on his neck and the quiet mumbled reassurances of his lover that he knew were optimistic at best. Minutes later the MedEvac was airborne, his friends waiting for him to return to the truck so they could follow.

Warrick felt his face crumble, burying it into the smaller shoulders of the woman next to him. After several agonizing minutes of unloading so many hours of frustration and sorrow he collected himself enough to stand straight and re-enter the Denali. The car ride was tense, as Brass continued to ignore the speed limit, although not at the dangerous levels of before.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but it was at least an hour by car to the hospital. Warrick held his wife close, pressing small kisses along her cheek, but had not said a thing. After a while the silence was interrupted by the question he had hoped to dodge just a little bit longer, until he could be rest assured that his partner was going to be all right.

"Warrick. Do you think you could tell us what the Hell happened?"

Green eyes met blue ones, and he exhaled a shaky breath before reliving the nightmare to his colleague.

He ended the story with where the others had come in. "We met you guys out on the road. From what Kenny told me, the psycho doctor bitch burned up in the fire, and her two goon partners are probably still hightailin' through the woods, running away from the fire. Hope it burns them up too," he muttered darkly.

He cleared his throat, still scratchy from his cold and fidgeted in his seat, unable to find a comfortable position. The heat on high had replaced the a/c the minute they'd gotten Nick out of the truck and the warmth wrapped him in its cocoon as he nestled closer to Tina. He laid his head back on the seat, and closed his eyes in exhaustion.

"So, now I told you my tale, hows about you telling me how you wound up here with us?" he asked tiredly.

Brass spoke up from the drivers seat. "You have your neighbor, Marge Korchynski, to thank for that, Warrick."

"The old lady from across the street?" Tina asked.

"Yeah. Score another one for Community Watch. She got a plate off one of your pursuer's vehicles. Then Grissom and Archie worked their mojo and figured out where your Voice was holed up."

Grissom quickly piped in, "It was mostly Archie. Our AV Tech is a fount of valuable information. He was really the reason we found you."

"Archie…huh. That boy is getting the box sets of every Star Trek, Star Wars, and Stargate I can find," Warrick said with a small laugh. "Archie. Whoda thunk it."

"Catherine helped as well," Grissom amended, failing to notice Tina raise an eyebrow at his last comment.

Warrick felt Tina tense next to him and quickly hugged her in closer, her head falling onto his shoulder. He cracked an eye open and looked at her. She had a smile on her face that said she knew her reaction was foolish. He gave her arm another squeeze, then let his eyes fall shut once more as he tried to keep his dark thoughts at bay. He was back in the comfort of friends and loved ones, headed back to civilization and medicine and light and warmth, but he couldn't relax until he knew what was going on with Nick.

The last image he had of his partner was of the medics cutting open the hated Longhorns sweatshirt to apply the paddles to his chest. Nick's body barely flinched as the voltage entered his body. Warrick watched apprehensively, the wavy lines on the monitor completely foreign to him, but the medics seemed satisfied after the third attempt. And Tina had said something about normal sinus rhythm, his mind seizing only on the word normal. Nothing about this situation had been normal.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, Tina was whispering, "We're here," gently into his ear. He roused himself painfully and groaned out loud, grabbing at his shoulder.

Tina looked at him, concern filling her eyes. Her hands went to his shirt, trying to undo the buttons to look at his shoulder. "Did you hurt yourself? Why didn't you say anything?"

He took her hand away from his shirt and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly. "It's okay. Banged it in the crash. It's fine."

The look she gave him said she wouldn't leave it at that. He quirked a small tired smile at her. "Yeah, okay. I'll let them look at it. C'mon. Let's go in."

* * *

Lovell Canyon Medical was a small hospital, a one story building situated at the foot of the Spring Mountains. The tiny waiting area held only two people, a man holding a bloody cloth to his hand, and his wife reading a magazine quietly next to him. The sudden influx of four strangers caused staff and visitors to stare in curiosity. Warrick paid them no mind and headed straight for the nurses' desk where a pony-tailed receptionist sat watching him approach.

"You folks must be here with the patients on the Mercy Flight. Hang on a second. I'll see if I can pull away Dr. Crowheart."

A few minutes later she emerged with a doctor, plaid flannel shirt under his white coat, clipboard in hand. American Indian, if his bronzed complexion and black hair pulled back in a short braid were any indication.

He allowed the time for brief introductions, shaking hands with the men, then ushering them into a small office for a bit more privacy away from the continued stares of staff and the waiting patients.

"Sorry about that," he said as he shut the door behind him. "We don't get many strangers in these parts, and I think the chopper landing outside gave them all quite the thrill. I'm sure we'll be hearing about it at the local diner for weeks.

So, lets get you up to speed on your friends. I'll skip the formalities of consent, since I think you'll be as close to family as we'll get for a bit. I'll start with Mr.…" He checked the chart in his hand. "Longman. Smoke inhalation. He told me has a history of asthma so we'll be admitting him for observation. The lacerations on his arm weren't too deep, and we sutured him up. Seems fine otherwise."

Warrick shuffled his feet uneasily at the wait, gratified to hear that Kenny would be okay, but anxious for news on his partner. He felt Tina's hand snake back around his waist and he grabbed her hand and squeezed it in silent thanks for the comfort she offered.

"Mr. Stokes has a bit of a grocery list here, but I'll break it down as best as I can. I'm hoping someone here can fill in some of the blanks."

He sighed and sat on the corner of the desk as four pairs of eyes stared at him anxiously.

"Medics cardioverted him at the scene. Mr. Stokes was in ventricular fibrillation, his heart valves not opening and closing properly. It returned in flight--" he held up a hand at the small gasps he heard, "but they successfully brought him back to normal sinus rhythm, and he's stayed there since his arrival. We had to administer another epinephrine injection to combat the anaphylaxis, so we have him on an external pacemaker and digoxin to help strengthen his heart for this last dose."

He reached for the chart once more to refresh his memory, flipping through the pages, so many pages for just one man.

"We also administered diphenhydramine and cimetidine, otherwise known as Benadryl and Tagamet."

"Tagamet? I take that for my ulcer," Brass said wryly.

The doctor smiled. "The inflammation it helps take care of in your stomach is similar to the inflammation Mr. Stokes is experiencing in his bronchi and lungs. Think of it as backup for the Benadryl."

"Yeah. Back up," Brass said with a grunt. "Guys coulda used that earlier."

Dr. Crowheart continued his litany of Nick's medical woes, the words and terminology starting to blur together. He noticed his audience getting fidgety and paused. "So, I told you what we've done so far. We've addressed his heart, his lungs …the hand will have to wait until he's stabilized but we can cast it for now. Several broken carpals and metacarpals in his hand and wrist. He'll need surgery, and he'll probably wind up with a number of pins but the only problem it should give him is on his next plane flight. Those things never make it through security without setting it off," he said with a small smile. "We aren't equipped to do the surgery so he'll need eventual transport to a larger hospital.

As for the scorpion toxin I was informed caused the initial anaphylaxis, I'm a little in the dark. We've a number of indigenous scorpions in Nevada, but his symptoms don't match those I've seen from usual envenomations. Do we know how and where he came into contact with the thing?"

Four pairs of eyes now looked at each other uneasily. Grissom spoke up first. "It wasn't local, Dr. Crowheart. I'm a doctor of entomology, and while I didn't see the creature, descriptions place it as genera _Buthotus_. Normally found in Southeast Asia and Africa. I have friends at the University of Arizona where they have an Antivenin Production Lab. They could fly some out on dry ice."

The doctor shook his head solemnly. "I'm afraid that any antivenin would just trigger a new bout of anaphylaxis. No, I'm afraid as far as the toxin is concerned, Mr. Stokes will just have to ride it out. Any idea how long ago he was stung?"

Warrick shook his head, rubbing at his face tiredly. All this medical talk still had him no closer to knowing how Nick was really doing. Telling was not the same as seeing.

"I have no idea what time it is now, but it was late morning."

The doctor nodded. "It should be breaking down in his system shortly. And it's around eight."

He eased up off the desk, clipboard tapping against his hip. Grissom was rubbing at his beard and looked up when he saw the doctor ready to leave. "He'll need a tetanus booster. Scorpions are -"

"Known to carry _Clostridium tetani_. Yes, Dr. Grissom. Already done. Now if you folks will excuse me, I have a hand laceration waiting for me in chairs."

Warrick took a step forward, causing the doctor to pause as he exited. "Doc? You've told us _what_ you're doing but not _how_ _he's_ doing."

The doctor nodded as four pairs of eyes fixed once more on him. "He's as close to stable as we can get him right now. I'm hoping that improves with time as the venom breaks down in his system. We'll know if there was any permanent damage to his heart when his cardiac enzymes come back." He paused for a moment letting that sink in then plunged on. "His sats- the level of oxygen in his blood, were in the basement when he got here and they still aren't where they should be even on one hundred percent O2. Frankly, if they go any lower we'll most likely have to intubate. We'll give the antihistamines a chance to work and see how he does from there."

Warrick scowled at the less than satisfying response, his hand reaching inside his shirt to rub at his shoulder.

The doctor's clinical eye caught the movement. "You hurt your shoulder?"

Before Warrick could dismiss the man Tina spoke up. "Yes, he _did,_ Dr. Crowheart. Could you have someone take a look at it?"

"I'm the 'someone' on staff tonight," he said with a rueful chuckle. "Let me get Floyd's hand prepped for suturing and I'll come back and take a look at it. You can wait in exam room four down the hall. Your friend Mr. Longman is in there."

"Thanks, Doc. What about Nick? When can we see him?"

The doctor tapped the clipboard on his hip considering the request. "I'll take you back after I look at your shoulder."

Before Warrick could lodge a protest, the doctor had closed the door behind him and was gone.

The next thing he knew Tina was guiding him back out of the room, her slim arm around his waist as she steered him down the hall to stop in front of room four. She tilted her chin up and reached hands around Warrick's neck, pulling him down for a brief but intimate kiss. She broke away with a smile and patted his arm. "You be a good boy for the doctor, now," she teased gently.

"Yeah. I'll be good. Do I get a lollipop after?" he said with a waggle to his eyebrows. She just smiled and turned away to head back to join the rest of the group.

* * *

He opened the door to find Kenny sitting on the edge of an exam table, clad in a lemon yellow hospital gown, his bare feet swinging like a little kid's. He had new white gauze bandages on one arm and more gauze peeked out from under the short sleeve of the gown at his shoulder. He was receiving a breathing treatment, a mechanical nebulizer droning on the table in front of him as he inhaled from the plastic tube. When he pulled his mouth away wisps of what appeared to be smoke curled from the end of the tube.

"Hey, Dawg. Was wondering when I might get some company," Kenny said, the last part dissolving into another hacking cough.

Warrick gestured for Kenny to put the mouthpiece back in and he hopped up on the table next to him, his feet practically touching the ground.

"Hey, Kenny. How you doin'? Wait. Don't answer that. You just keep suckin' on that thing. I'll try and stick to yes and no a'ight?"

Nod with a roll of the eyes.

"So Chu, the psycho doctor, she really dead?"

Baleful nod. He pulled the mouthpiece free for a second to croak out, "I saw her die."

Warrick nodded. At least that was one loose end tied up. He wasn't sure of the fate of Sang or Lee or whoever the fuck he was, but he'd left the man unconscious and the fire was moving to engulf the whole mountainside, leaving nothing but blackened carbon in its wake.

"She came because you called for help. You were the one who told me we couldn't call. Did you know what you were doing when you called, Kenny?"

Solemn nod.

"Did you panic?"

Narrowed eyes and a stern headshake.

"Did you really think help was going to come?"

Another eye roll and a snort of disgust.

As tired and hungry and mentally fried as he was he'd been a bit slow on the uptake. But the truth was slowly dawning on him.

"Wasn't you who wanted to call at all, was it Kenny?" he asked softly.

Sad eyes as his head shook no.

"He wanted to draw their attention for when I got up there. That's why I didn't have to take on the bitch and her buddies. They were headed off in response to the phone call."

Now his friend's head nodded slowly. "Told him it was crazy," he croaked out with another cough. He shook his head angrily when Warrick tried to get him to stop talking. "Told me to get lost. Leave him there," he said, still wheezing heavily between his stilted choked out words. "And I did. I made it into the woods. I was headed out." He stopped to breathe hungrily at the mouthpiece and Warrick waited patiently for him to resume his story. He knew Kenny wanted to tell him everything, but his lungs were letting him down.

"Saw the bitch show up with two others. Knew he didn't have a chance. Tried to get them to follow me, but only two did. She went into the cabin. I lost my two and went back. Bitch sliced me up, had a blade to my neck. Your boy stuck his pen right in her chest. She croaked right there. "

His last words were practically swallowed up in a paroxysm of hacking and coughing that shook his small frame painfully. Warrick draped his hand over Kenny's shoulder and held him until the coughing eased a bit.

"You did good, Kenny. You did real good."

The doctor came in to join them about twenty minutes later. He took a moment to listen to Kenny's chest and check the amount of medication left in the nebulizer, then turned to Warrick and told him to sit up on the other table in the room and take his shirt off.

Across the CSI's shoulder was a dark purplish bruise that extended on to his sternum.

"Lemme guess," the doctor grunted. "A car accident."

"You could say that, Doc. Just a bruise right?"

"How about you let me play doctor here? Raise your arm. So, a car accident, an exotic scorpion bite, and Mr. Stokes came in sopping wet, yet we haven't had rain in weeks. You folks have had quite the adventure here on our little mountain."

Warrick snorted. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me. You know… okay, straighten your arm… there's always been talk about the house at the top of the mountain. Dark vehicles coming and going on that crappy road night all hours of the night. Walt Sheppard has an old hunting cabin up there. He said he can actually get cell phone service up there. Nearest public cell tower is down here in town. Okay, rotate your arm out for me."

Warm hands continued to manipulate Warrick's shoulder as the Doctor prattled on. He had a very soothing voice and Warrick felt himself relaxing a bit as the Indian continued with his tale.

"My people are all over these mountains, those that left the reservation. Our legends tell of dark spirits living up there. Most won't go anywhere near the top but those that have recently say a new evil lives up there. He has fancy gardens and statues of weird looking gods. And a few times a year boats come down the stream. The kids find them and bring them into town. They're small, made of paper, really intricately made. They'd have to be to survive the trip down. Some of them look singed and smell like incense."

"Your people…Shoshone, right? There's a reservation up north, Wyoming I think? Crowheart Shoshone Res. That where you're from?"

The doctor nodded as he dropped his hands to his hips. "There, I'd have to agree with your initial diagnosis. Just a bruise. Anything else I should know, or do I ask that pretty wife of yours what you're hiding?"

Warrick smiled. "Nah, Doc. I'm good. Just a cold and a sore shoulder."

"I can give you some ibuprofen for the shoulder. As for the cold, you could try some of that over the counter stuff. It doesn't cure the cold, of course, but it'll work for you in a pinch."

Warrick closed his eyes and sighed. "Yeah, in a pinch."

* * *

tbc... 


	21. Chapter 21

* * *

Tina had apparently wandered back towards the examination room during the time he had spent in there while he got checked out. She hugged him briefly, hands caressing his face until she was satisfied that he was doing all right before speaking to the doctor. Dr. Crowheart reassured his wife about her husband's injury and spoke briefly for a few moments. Tension and exhaustion emanated in waves from her husband as Tina took his hand in her own and gave it a slight squeeze. She studied his eyes and gently stroked the side of his face as he leaned into her touch. 

"I know you want to see him, Sweetie."

Warrick brought her close, hugging her tightly, strong hands around a small waist. He whispered in her ear, "I gotta see how's he doing with my own eyes, Babe."

His wife planted a kiss along his cheek. "Of course, I'd expect nothing less."

She entwined her fingers with his. "He's going to be really out of it, Warrick. Don't expect too much."

"Yeah, I guess he's on some good drugs," Warrick sighed.

Both Tina and Dr. Crowheart looked at him with sympathy. The physician spoke up first. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Brown. Any type of pain medication would depress his already weak respiratory system. We've given him ibuprofen and compazine for his nausea."

Warrick's face flushed, even though his anger was not directed towards the caregiver. "So, you can't do anything about the scorpion toxin and he can't get anything for all the pain. What _are_ you doin' to help?"

As soon as the outburst was over, Warrick rubbed his hand over his face, kneading the area around his eyes. "I'm sorry, Man. This is so…so damn frustrating."

"It's all right, Mr. Brown. You two have gone though some extreme circumstances. But Mr. Stokes is receiving Albuterol through his oxygen mask to help his lungs. If he stabilizes enough in the morning, he'll be transferred to the Cardiac Unit at Desert Palms for proper monitoring of his heart and so an orthopedic surgeon can work on his hand. We don't really want to wait on that too much longer, as it could open up a whole new set of complications."

The trio walked though the tiny hospital, curious faces of staff members giving them pleasant smiles as they went towards a room at the end of a hall. The physician patted Warrick on the back and gave him an optimistic smile. "Your friend is a real fighter to have survived with such rudimentary treatment. He's a very strong man. For now I'll leave you. I'm sure your wife can answer most of the questions you might have and I've filled her in on all the details. She's probably just as knowledgeable as I am about what's going on."

Tina brown smiled warmly at the Native American. As the doctor was about to leave, Warrick grabbed his shoulder. "Thanks." After thinking for a beat, his eyes lit up recalling even more details of their ordeal. "I don't know when the next time he's going to need x-rays, but he hurt his ankle recently and has been limping on it ever since."

Crowheart merely raised an eyebrow, releasing a resigned sigh as he added another ailment to the list. "I'll mark it on his chart."

Warrick nodded and steeled himself in front of the door. Shoulders squared, face neutral, he pushed the door ajar, stepping into the quiet room, the beeping sound of a heart monitor breaking the silence. A curtain was halfway pulled around the bed, but he could see Nick laying there. He gnawed on his lower lip, Tina's hand holding his a bit harder, giving him another gentle grip before releasing. He turned and smiled at her and walked towards the bed.

Nick's eyes were closed, an oxygen mask obscuring most of his face. The inside misted up every few seconds with the condensation of his breath. The front of his hospital gown had been untied and pulled down to allow for the attachment of cardiac leads, wires that ran from his chest to an EKG machine set up on a station next to him. Warrick's brow furrowed at the sight of all the numbers and readouts and their mystifying meanings.

"Those wavy lines are recording his heart activity," Tina whispered in a lowered voice.

Warrick nodded as he spotted Nick's left hand encased in temporary plaster, resting atop a small white pillow.

He let out a sigh as he stood next to the bed, his back leg hooking a hard plastic chair behind him as he rested his own weary body into it. The metal legs scraped over the floor and the result was the fluttering of eyelids. Warrick leaned over the metal bars, careful not to bother the IV line hooked to the top of Nick's hand or the oxygen sensor clipped on to his index finger.

Hazy brown eyes opened at half mast, mouth opened to express a scratchy, "Hey," that was nearly impossible to hear, swallowed up as it was by the heavy plastic and spray of medication.

Warrick gave a wan smile. "Hey, partner."

Nick took another long raspy breath, his mask clouding over with its release. He licked his lips to speak again, but the tiny question was muffled by the mask.

Warrick squinted and lowered his ear to Nick's face as the man struggled to speak, his voice a mere whisper, muted by the strain and equipment.

Warrick pulled back, both worried and surprised by what he thought he heard. Clearing his throat he patted Nick on the shoulder. "Yeah, Man. This is real. You're in a hospital, getting taken care by some nice folks."

Nick turned until his face rested on its side, drowsy eyes blinking at him as if he wasn't sure if Warrick was an illusion or not. Another slow shallow breath and his eyes closed shut, the lids seeming too heavy to keep open.

Warrick felt his guts twist. This wasn't the affirmation he had sought. His body sagged in his chair, and once again it was his wife that provided the anchor he so desperately needed. A hand rested on his shoulder as she squatted down next to him.

"The combination of medications and the shock to his system is going to make him very groggy. He needs to sleep, to give his body time to heal."

Warrick dragged his gaze to meet her sincere eyes. "Yeah," he said disappointed. Maybe he was being selfish, he didn't know.

"It's best this way, Rick. If he were awake, he'd be in a lot of pain from his hand. This way he doesn't have to endure another kind of stress."

Warrick snorted. "Another stress?"

Tina shook her head. "He'd try to mask how bad he felt in front of you. Not to mention the toll it would take trying deal with it all without morphine."

Tina knew the both of them so well, and yet Nick had only been over to the house a few times since his marriage. She had this gift of knowing how he felt, but then again it only took a few meetings to watch them in their natural elements. His wife found his behavior around his partner amusing and of course Nick's near death during the summer was the driving catalyst to their wedding. Warrick spent a great deal of time with her as he dealt with his own fallout from that terrible ordeal, splitting his time between the Lab, Nick's house, and her the weeks following his release. In a way, Tina Brown knew more about Nick and Warrick's bond than anyone else.

Warrick put his arm around her shoulders. "Why did he think this wasn't real?" He said it out loud without even realizing it. Further testament to his own exhaustion.

Tina meet his inquisitive stare. "From what you told me, he's had several breathing treatments from your friend's inhaler as well as the abnormally high amounts of epinephrine. The sheer volume of medications combined with the scorpion neurotoxin could cause confusion, paranoia and even delusions. He's lucky he didn't suffer from any hallucinations or from any form of psychosis."

Warrick pulled up into a sitting position, shaking his head adamantly. "No way. I don't think the man has it in him to go nutty no matter what he's been subjected to. My boy's too tough for that."

Tina didn't try to argue her point.

Warrick zoned out for a moment by all the different tones of hums in the room. Machines observing every little change, any indication that heart or lungs were out of sync. Medications to ease life's two most basic functions. He didn't know how long he sat almost numbly, all of the events of the last 48 hours a blur of decisions and consequences. His morbid thoughts were interrupted by Nick's right hand, another slight tremble causing it to shake slightly from its resting position, as its owner was mercifully unaware.

Tina must have thought he'd had enough self-flagellation and forcefully pulled him out of his self-imposed misery. "Enough, Warrick. You can't do anything to help by just sitting here. We'll get a motel. You're going to eat a real meal, take a shower and go to bed. We'll be here in time for him to be transferred. And he's going to be stable enough to go."

Warrick felt his feet moving along to her urgent pull. He knew she was right, but someone should stay. He had left him once, it wasn't right to do it again. "Doc said his sats were too low," he mumbled as he was pushed out the door.

Tina corralled him into the hall, where not to her surprise his supervisor was waiting for them. She turned her husband's head towards hers. "Yes, they are currently. But give the medication time. Now, you're getting out of here. I'm sure your boss will sit with him."

Gil Grissom tilted his head at what had to be considered an order. "I'll stay, Warrick."

He was battling, still trying to gauge another decision. "I dunno, so many damn things to worry about. I mean it doesn't seem like anything's gettin' done. For one thing, what's with his hand still trembling like that?"

This time it was his superior that answered. "Are the tremors less frequent?"

Warrick turned his attention towards his boss. "Less?"

Grissom spoke with the same patience as he did in the car. "I'm assuming that Nick experienced pain or odd sensations in his extremities. Arm tremors, lightheadedness, some dizziness perhaps?"

"Yeah. His right hand was twitchy, and he tried to hide everything else." Warrick shook his head annoyed.

Grissom exuded calmness and outward confidence that was already having a positive reaction on his colleague. He shrugged. "All common side effects from that type of toxin. His central nervous system was attacked, and now the venom is breaking down. He'll still experience some effects for a while longer, but I suspect they'll all dissipate relatively soon."

Warrick was being forced away by a united front. Grissom simply stared at him with his usual vague and stoic expression. He knew when he was beat, and the warmness of a comfortable bed was such a badly needed distraction. "All right. But you better call me if anything happens."

"But of course." Grissom responded. "We'll see you in the morning."

Tina Brown mouthed a thank you and proceeded to steer her husband out of the hospital and towards some much needed rest.

* * *

Gil Grissom felt vaguely familiar with this scenario, except for a couple striking differences. The waiting room was not overcrowded by co-workers, acquaintances, police and an over-anxious media swarming outside. No emotionally polar opposite set of parents, reeling from an aftermath of trauma, unable to quite deal with the outpouring of support or the conflicted needs of their son. 

No, he sat in one chair, while Jim Brass occupied a borrowed one from the hall. They talked while the man unaware in the bed battled one breath at a time.

"Don't you think we'll wake him?" the Captain asked as he attempted to keep his question quiet.

Grissom looked at the bed and raised both eyebrows. "No," he said simply.

Brass grumbled under his breath at the ease of the answer. It was odd, two men who didn't deem each other as conversationalists, keeping each other company.

Grissom's mind wandered, calculating the number of times his CSI had gone outdoors. Dug up holes in some yard, searched for evidence around dirt, sand, or vegetation. Every single inch of ground a treacherous environment where he had to be acutely alert for things other than clues and evidence. _How many more times to be cautious? How long until something as mundane and harmless as a honeybee could spark another crisis?  
_  
Jim's soft chuckle roused him from what-ifs that were valid, but most certainly things that had to become just another set of fundamentals.

"What?"

The detective shook his head. "Just remembered that death at that nudist colony. I swear that kid's cheeks couldn't get any redder, or his accent any thicker. Don't think his eyes ever left whatever interesting spot he found on the floor."

Grissom's lips twitched fondly, but remained mute.

Brass snorted. "I _knew_ you did that to him on purpose. You're a sadist, Gil. What a way to baptize that southern modesty. What was he, a Level 1 or 2?"

The supervisor shrugged. "I don't really recall," although the slight sparkle in his eyes gave him away.

The momentary lapse of wry humor disappeared as a nurse entered the room, marking notes on Nick's chart at the machine's read outs, a small reassuring smile at the both of them on her way out.

"Do we have anything else to worry about? Something else in store?"

"This wasn't a result of the job. Just...just circumstance," he replied. When he saw Jim's strange expression, the supervisor re-examined the question.

Brass nodded towards the bed. "I was referring to the nerve damage from those needles. That got any thing to do with those spasms?"

Grissom sat straighter, his posture more at ease when he was able to spout out something scientific. "Acupuncture only manipulates the nerves and muscle fibers when directly applied, shifting the flow of synapses for small amounts of time for pain relief. The punctures are too tiny to cause permanent injury of the tissue or nerve endings."

"Relief, huh?" Brass muttered softly in disgust. But was somewhat reassured by the information.

Grissom looked over seeing some sort of strange comfort at his words. At least one of them felt more at ease with the explanation. "Worst case scenario, his right arm and hand will be sore from being in a state of severe muscular constriction."

"Oh." Brass shifted to find a more comfortable spot in the world's most aggravatingly designed chair. Waiting room chairs had to be some sort of oxymoron, he thought. Staring at his watch, Jim's eyes widened at how much time had gone by and realized how little sleep either of them had.

"You going to stay here all night?"

Grissom's incredulous expression was all the answer he expected. Never really doubting it, the Captain stood up stretching. "Just needed to know how much coffee to get."

"You don't have to stay. I'll be here when he comes to," the entomologist remarked.

Jim snorted. "I think Nicky would prefer a prettier face to wake up to after everything he's endured. Besides, I know he can hear us deep down inside. You don't want bore the guy into wanting to sleep longer with all those monologues or some soliloquy from Shakespeare or even worse, or one of your lectures, do you?"

Jim was out the door before the entomologist could give him one of his _I am not amused _expressions.

Alone with Nick for the moment Grissom rose creakily from his chair. Cocking his head to one side he leaned closer, just enough to keep from raising his voice. "I could give you several definitions of resiliency as encouragement, Nicky. Then again, why waste my breath with someone who is the very embodiment of the word." He smiled. "Put me in my place, Nick. Few give it the same type of effort you do when I need it.

* * *

Warrick Brown was tired of the color white. The stark color of bleach, blank canvas, and bed sheets and of dull hospital walls and floors drove him crazy. What ever happened to soothing colors or works of art to promote healing? Of course most patients in the wing he was walking in were in need of silence, comfort and supervision. The Cardiac Unit was on the south side of Desert Palms and always a long walk, but it cleared his head. 

He nodded to the nurses at the front station and turned the corner. The ward wasn't really full of rooms per se, just little cubicles of beds divided up by privacy curtains. Warrick made his way over to his partner his body relaxed for once when he pulled up a chair. Nick was no longer on full oxygen support; a nasal cannula supplied a normal amount of O2 for anyone who had to remain in this unit.

Nick turned his head as he got situated in the hard plastic. Warrick noticed the open brown eyes that were absent their previous dull vacancy, replaced by something closer to real alertness. "Hey, Man."

"Hey."

The voice was still rough around the edges but contained some of the strength he was accustomed to in the past. "I see you're finally in the real world. Welcome back."

Nick arched his eyebrows. "Yeah. They pulled the cotton out of my brains sometime last night." He had to take another lungful of air before his next sentence. "Although I'd prefer to be doped up compared to the piano they dropped on my chest and the test tube brush that they stuffed down my throat," he complained, the last words heavily laden with his Texan drawl.

"Well, now they got you off of all those breathing treatments, your lungs probably feel like a Brillo pad rubbed away a few layers," Warrick said with sympathy.

Nick breathed deeply, his chest rising slowly and steadilyy, his relief at the ability towards semi normal function obvious. He frowned at his surroundings. "How much longer do I have to stay in here?'

Warrick didn't conceal a small laugh. "You get to be in _here_ another night to make sure that ticker of yours is as strong as your bravado, which is a tough act to follow. Then you get to stay longer in a normal room after one of them fancy surgeons puts a few shiny metal pins in your hand and wrist."

The aforementioned hand had remained motionless on top of its constant companion. Warrick noticed how one of the nurses had switched out the flat tiny pillow with a slightly larger and fluffier one.

Nick stared at his temporary cast, frowning. "Damn thing hurts like a sonofabitch. A nurse told me they have me on anti-inflammatories and boatloads of ibuprofen. No real narcotics."

Warrick sat forward. "Your lungs could barely circulate enough of the hot air in ya just a couple of days ago. The morphine's gonna have to wait, Bro."

Nick shifted uncomfortably, the simple motion causing him to accidentally move the object of their discussion. He groaned, balling his right hand in a fist, the sudden intake of breath resulting in a coughing fit.

Warrick grimaced while he waited for it to pass, his partner sinking further into the bed as a result. Feeling slightly guilty but not wanting the topic to be passed up, he licked his lips and gave him a serious gaze. "You know I'm not a doctor, but after the car crash, I doubt you had anything more than one or two fractures. Now you've got five in both your hand and wrist."

Nick turned his head away staring at some distant spot on the wall. "Yeah, well that doctor had a bit of an evil streak in her."

Warrick sat forward. "Yeah, just a bit. About that..."

Nick rolled his eyes. "What?" He cleared his throat risking a glance sideways. "I don't really remember very much. Hypoxic, I guess." He shrugged, signaling his wish to end it there.

Warrick shook his head. "Not this again, Man. You brought the hounds of Hell down on yourself. No blaming lack of oxygen. Sounds like pure Nick Stokes to me. It...it's one of the stupidest things you've ever done, but..." He swallowed. "Jesus, Nicky. What about self preservation?"

Nick kept his gaze, his voice heavy and thick. "I was dying... no...no sugarcoating things. I did whatever I could to give you back up. It..." He took another deep breath..."It was all I had left."

Seeing those accusing eyes, Nick grumbled. "Not like you charging off into the sunset, showdown at high noon. Warrick Brown versus an army of ninjas."

Warrick snorted. "Not really. Thanks to you, just a feeble old man in his pjs."

Nick quirked an eyebrow. "All parlor tricks. I took the disc Kenny gave me. When he didn't trade, once he put it in, I gave him a code that triggered a virus. Eradicated his whole network, destroyed all his files and took down his fancy security system. Everything was jacked into the same thing."

Nick looked suitable impressed. Warrick smiled. "All Kenny's idea."

Nick played with string to his hospital issued shirt. "Fool came back to help me." Then he mumbled something about a cowardly lion.

Warrick drew his breath to loose another earful about his friend's last bit of heroics, but Nick held up his right hand to cut him off. "It just seemed like the right thing to do. Instincts, I guess. Like I said..."

"Oxygen starved brain, yeah. You told me," Warrick interrupted not believing a word.

Nick's fingers trailed down to his neck, the skin irritated by all the scratches and marks left from his struggles. He rubbed at his chest in annoyance, twisting at one of the cardiac wires. "Stupid things itch."

Warrick folded his arms. "Stop messin' with them, Man. You want the whole wing bustin' in when you knock one of them off? I think I've seen them use those paddles one too many times already."

Nick stilled his fidgeting, closing his eyes briefly. It felt good to be able to hold a conversation again, but as short as it was, he was already tired. The various aches and behemoth ball of pain that was his left hand seemed to wear him out. Not to mention the effort of breathing normally was still, well an effort. Every once in a while a small hitch stirred up tendrils of panic; he didn't know how long it would be before that bit anxiety would diminish.

Warrick sensed the change of tide. His partner was healing, but his body was still trying to recover. He gripped Nick's elbow before he fell asleep. "I'm gonna take off. Your surgery is in a few hours and I'll be back before you go in."

Nick didn't even try to dissuade him, knowing what the answer would be. He nodded, already feeling sleep beckon him.

"Thanks, Nick."

Brown eyes snapped open and Nick latched onto the arm that was about to be pulled way. "This was a team effort, Bro. We always got each other's back."

Warrick Brown smiled, knowing never to doubt the trust in the man in front of him. Never to fear what that trust and friendship entailed. "Yeah we do." He patted his partner's shoulder. "Get some rest."

Nick's eye were closed, his breathing heavy and regular. Warrick stood in the entrance for a few moments comforted by the new somewhat relaxedness of his partner. Then he nodded his head answering a silent question and left to give Nick time to sleep.

* * *

tbc.

skipped normal replies for another chapter...we still read your thoughts


	22. Chapter 22

* * *

"Hey, Mr. T. Does this fabric come in charcoal?"

The tailor shook his head angrily as he tugged on the pant leg in front of him.

"It is Tiftikjian. Tiff. Tick. Zhun. And you have already chosen the navy blue and I have already begun pinning it. Now please to stand still!"

"Okay, Mr. T. Just chill, Bro. Just asking. Maybe I want a second suit is all."

The grunted moan that emitted from the Armenian's mouth around the pins clenched between his lips spoke volumes. No amount of money in the world would be worth having to work with Kenny Longman again.

Kenny stood on a wide flat stool in front of a three paneled mirror designed to offer the user a view of their clothing as it was being altered. The little man kept craning his neck and fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt and playing with the buttons on the front while the tailor tried to work on hemming his pants.

Kasmir Tiftikjian, proud owner of Tiftikjian Tailors had worked with Nick and Warrick many times before. His shop offered deep discounts to the LVPD and the LVFD, and did the alterations on the police and fire department dress uniforms, as well as the suits the CSIs wore for court.

It was as a favor to them both that he worked on Kenny's suit for his upcoming trial. While the CSIs had both privately been reassured that the circumstances under which Kenny had hijacked the UPS truck would be given serious consideration, until he'd gotten his slap on the wrist and parole officer assignment the three of them were still a bit uneasy. Especially Kenny.

Because ironically enough, it turned out Kenny actually had something to lose should he face jail time.

* * *

About a week after Nick's eventual release from the hospital, Archie Johnson had been beckoned to Nick's house, the excuse given that while Nick recuperated he wanted to watch DVDs and he was having difficulty setting up a new player that had been bought for him what with his bum hand and all.

The A/V tech of course good naturedly showed up, tool kit in hand, only to be ambushed once he got in the front door by Warrick who gave him a startling bear hug, then proceeded to reach into a shopping bag and pull out box after box of sci-fi TV DVDs, piling them in the surprised tech's arms.

Introductions were quickly made between the still flustered tech and Kenny. Archie stuck a hand out for a shake that Kenny reluctantly returned, quickly stuffing his finger in his mouth to gnaw on a hangnail.

Warrick rolled his eyes at his childhood friend, his look clearly asking Kenny, hadn't he learned anything?

Nick was ensconced on the couch, his newly fixed left hand sitting atop the familiar pillow. He offered to scooch over for Archie but the tech just grinned and folded himself in front of the couch on the floor, eyes already avidly fixed on the TV screen in front of him. Kenny gave the Asian a sideways look, then plopped down next to him, back supported by the couch.

"So what kind of geek show we watchin?" he muttered. "Please don't let it be one of them Star Wars movies. That Jar Jar guy pisses me off."

Hours later the four were halfway through the first season of Star Trek. Well, not exactly all four of them. Archie and Kenny had stopped watching and were deeply entrenched in computer geek talk. Kenny had his homemade Blackberry and was eagerly showing Archie all the bells and whistles. Warrick was stuck staring at the TV, laughing in bemusement at the Styrofoam rocks and Kirk's intergalactic conquests.

Nick snored noisily on the couch, the conversation and surround sound phasers no match for his still worn-out body and pain meds.

* * *

That afternoon the week prior had led Archie to make a few calls to some contacts in Seattle. Kenny's work had been described to the Director of Product Development at Microsoft, and the other reason for the suit was the interview he had with them in a few weeks time. That is, if he wasn't in jail.

"Ouch! Damnit, man, you stuck me!"

"If you would only please to hold still I would not stick you with pins. You wiggle around like my four year old granddaughter."

Warrick and Nick were reclined sloppily in two overstuffed chairs at the back of the room, the scene in front of them providing boundless entertainment.

"Nuh uh. You did it deliberately! Old man sticking me with pins…"

"C'mon, Kenny. Just relax. Let Mr. Tiftikjian do his job. You need this suit, Man," Nick said with a smile.

"Yeah, well you get stuck with a bunch of pins and lemme hear what you got to say ab…" His eyes widened and he cast a leery glance at Nick.

Warrick closed his eyes, his disbelief at the things his childhood friend said evident on his face. He waited to hear what Nick's response would be, eyes popping open as he heard Nick laughing in the chair next to him.

"Good one, Kenny. I'll remember that," he said between gasps for breath. Laughing was one thing that still made his chest ache on occasion; that and the occasional cough would leave him rubbing his sternum for a few minutes.

Warrick rolled his eyes. "Man, I can't believe you can laugh at that. Kenny, you got about as much tact as a moose in a china shop!"

The smaller man mumbled a "sorry" under his breath, then brought a hand up to find a loose braid, finally pulling one free from the band when he found none available.

He shuffled his feet on the stool uneasily, rewarded with another pin stuck in his ankle.

"See? He _is _doin' it deliberately. Man, I've been standing on this stool for an hour. What you need all the pins for anyway?"

"You are small man. I need to make much alteration. Would be much faster if you would. Not. Move so much," he muttered angrily around his mouth full of pins, yanking firmly on the pant leg in front of him.

The two CSIs sat back to revel in the comedic turns of the tailor and the geek for a bit longer, each eased back into their chairs.

Warrick finally turned to his partner. "You get your check for your truck yet?"

"Yeah. The insurance company totaled it. Once I get this thing off I'll have to think about what to replace it with. And I can kiss my collision deductible away."

"No way for them to get it back, huh?"

"Nah. The carrier for the import company the Cherokee was registered under said that the loss occurred under _unclear circumstances. _And their calls to their insured aren't being returned. No surprise there."

Warrick shook his head. "Once that virus attacked his system, the way he had 'em all interconnected, probably crashed everything, even the legit businesses. Rangers reported the house was nothing but soot and ash after the fire. Course my car and Tina's were probably up there. I'm hoping there's enough wreckage left for my insurance company to find some VINs. Tired of driving around this crappy rental."

"Yeah, never thought I'd live to see the day Warrick Brown was driving an Econobox."

"Yeah, extra fun at six two, lemme tell you."

Nick smiled and laid his head back, the soft chair pillowing him in comfort. He lifted his left hand and rotated it slowly at the elbow, clenching his still slightly discolored fingers against the plaster.

The activity did not go unnoticed by his partner and Warrick watched with concern as he saw Nick's brow knit slightly.

"Knock it off," Nick muttered, eyes still closed.

"Knock what off?"

"You're starin' at me. Cut it out. I'm fine."

Warrick snorted. "Man, you are really something else, you know?"

Nick cracked open an eye, the other quickly following suit at the anger he saw in the green eyes fixed on him. "What?"

"You're tired. You're tired and your hand hurts. Is that so damn hard to admit?"

Nick sighed and sat up. "Now why in the hell would I be tired? My sum total activities for the day have been a doctor's appointment and sitting on my ass in this chair watching Kenny get stuck."

Warrick echoed his sigh, his tinged with more than a little frustration.

"Damn! I know they grow 'em stubborn in Texas, but you have got to be the stubbornest son that state ever birthed. Why is it so hard to admit things, Nick? You afraid I might think less of you cuz you're not Superman? Jesus, Nick, after all…"

Nick held up a hand to stop the rest of the tirade. "I sure as hell know I'm no superhero. You fill that roll quite nicely already."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you talk about admitting weaknesses and embarrassing things, yet your whole persona is built around the Uber-cool Warrick Brown. Mr. Single-handedly goes off to confront the supervillain in his Lair of Evil. Nothing bad ever happens to you, Warrick! You escape unscathed, your hair and clothes barely mussed."

"So that's what this is about…you're embarrassed because …because why? Because you got hurt trying to help me out of a mess I got myself into? A'ight…a'ight…lemme set you straight. You think you know from embarrassed?"

Nick sat forward slightly, intrigued by the idea he might actually hear about a time his ultra-suave partner might have had egg on his face.

Warrick leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes not quite meeting Nick's as he began his story.

"When I was in ninth grade I had this girl in my class. Teasha Washington. She was…she was hot. She reminded me of Janet Jackson, back when she was still young and had her original nose…" Catching Nick's eyebrows rise he shot him an angry look. "It was the eighties, Man. For the eighties she was hot. So anyway, I'm sitting in Math class and I'm starin' at Teasha. She's wearing some Flashdance sweatshirt thing, hanging off her shoulder, big plastic earrings. She had it goin' on. Next thing I know, my pants are getting tight and I have no idea what the hell is happening."

Nick laughed. "You got your first woody in _ninth_ grade?"

"Shut up! I told you I hit puberty late. Anyway, the teacher, Ms. Sanders, she was this real sweet older lady. Never had any kids of her own, never married I don't think. Real motherly looking though, big and soft, like Nell Carter?" Nick nodded at the reference.

"So she calls me up to the board to answer some algebra problem, but I got a problem of my own I'm tryin' to deal with. So I pull my shirt out from my pants and try to kinda tent it out in front of me, to hide it like? Anyway, I make my way up to the board and I'm standin' there, with my back to the class. I scribbled down the answer and dropped the chalk back in the holder in front of me. When I turned around to go back to my desk, I knocked the chalk off the holder."

"Wait a second…you mean you knocked it off with-"

Warrick's hands were already rising to cover his face in the remembered humiliation. "Yeah, yeah. So I bend over to try and pick up the chalk, but it's hard to bend over what with my situation and my fingers are fumbling for the chalk and I stand up just in time for Ms. Sanders to have come over to help me. She's bending over, I hit my head on her huge breasts, knockin' her backwards. I fall back on my ass, the shirt now accentuating the hard-on sticking out of my parachute pants. The entire class erupts in laughter and I turn my head to see Teasha Washington giggling with Desiree Dominguez, the other class hottie. Poor Ms. Sanders is rubbing at her breasts where my big old head hit them, and I'm laying on the floor with the whole class staring at my less than impressively sized tent pole."

To give him credit, Nick tried to keep it together. But the scenario painted for him was just too much and he dissolved into laughter, ignoring the pain in his chest as he raised a hand to wipe a tear from his eye.

Warrick just sat there, fighting his own smile, then grinning widely as he nodded. "Yeah, yeah, laugh at the poor pre-pubescent geek. So, we settled the myth of my never being embarrassed?"

Nick took a minute to take a few breaths. Nodded in appreciation at what had been offered.

"A'right, you were just treated to one of my finer moments…hows about you fessin' up on something?"

Nick sighed and leaned back in the chair again, his expression pensive. After a minute, he finally looked at his partner, his reluctance painted in broad strokes on his face.

"Okay." He took in another deep breath. "Ever since last summer, I … I hate auto detail back at the Lab. Goin' under the cars on the rolling board? I dunno, must be the whole flat on my back, bottom of the car inches from my face deal, but I hate it. It freaks me right the hell out…… What? Are you--? Why the hell are you laughing?"

Warrick shook his head in disbelief. "Man, that ain't no secret! You really think you're that good at hiding things, huh? Damn, a little claustrophobia ain't nothin' to be embarrassed about! Shit! So that's your big confession huh?" He kept shaking his head.

Nick frowned in annoyance. "Alright," he began slowly, "you remember that case we had where the cult offed themselves?"

Warrick stopped laughing, acutely aware that Nick was taking this seriously. "Yeah," he prodded.

"Well, they were all down below in this bunker, buried under the desert." A tongue slipped out to wet his lips at the memory of the oppressive heat that day. "It had to be a hundred and fifty in there, at least. Heard some patrol officers talking about how hot and enclosed it was inside. Don't think I've ever not wanted to do something more than I didn't want to go down there. Then once I manage to make myself go down there, I find all these empty bottles. They all smelled like cheap alcohol…like ether," he added quietly.

"By the time I'd finished up I lurched my way up to the top, elbowed past some poor uniform, nearly knocking him on his ass. Barely made it to the truck and I lost my breakfast. Took me fifteen minutes before I could even get behind the wheel," he finished, collapsing back in the chair.

Warrick sat back stunned. "Man, that was rough. Can't believe they had you goin' down there… guess you've been hidin' things better than I gave you credit for. Damn, Nick. You keep hiding everything, no one's ever gonna know when you need help."

Nick nodded, confirming the unspoken words that said that was the whole point of his efforts.

Warrick felt a small flare of anger that his partner could continue to be that stubborn. But having a full on argument in the middle of a tiny tailor's shop was not the best idea so he held his tongue.

He turned his head as he heard another loud sigh from his friend. "So, since you got me in full confession mode, I'll allow one last thing." A hand rose to rub at his face, then drop down to work at his arm where the cast rubbed on his flesh. "I'm tired. Okay? There I said it. I'm worn to the bone, ass dragging, wrung out like a wet dishrag tired. I'll probably fall asleep in that little four-banger rental of yours before we even get back. We about ready to ditch this place?" he asked wearily.

Warrick punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Now that's what I'm talkin' about! I'll go roust Kenny. He's gotta be more than ready to get outa Mr. Tiftikjian's clutches."

He heaved himself out of the armchair and strolled over to see if he could help speed things along.

"You two about done here?" he asked with a none too subtle flick of his head in Nick's direction. Kenny glanced over to see Nick's head resting on the back of the chair, eyes closed.

Before he could answer the tailor spoke up. "I have enough to make proper alterations. You will please to pick up suit, Mr. Brown?" he asked pointedly, meaning no Kenny when he came back. Warrick chuckled, placing a warning hand on Kenny's shoulder as the little man was about to start yammering at the tailor.

"Yeah. His hearing is in a couple weeks, Mr. Tiftikjian. That give you enough time?"

The Armenian nodded his head brusquely and grabbed up his tape measure to stalk into the back room behind the counter.

Kenny took a slow spin on the stool, checking out the alterations to be made to the suit. Even with the pins and chalk marks, the suit looked good on him, although very odd considering Warrick had never seen the man in anything but Army surplus clothing.

The CSI let out a low slow whistle showing how impressed he was.

"Looks good on you, Bro! The navy was a good choice. And stop worrying about the hearing. Told you- we got an in with The Man. We'll make sure everything goes all right."

Kenny nodded as he took another look at the suit in the mirror.

"Hey, Kenny, the suit looks good on you," Nick spoke up from his seat. "You look like a man of wealth and taste."

Warrick looked at Kenny. Kenny looked at Warrick. Then both heads turned slowly to stare at the Texan in the chair.

"What?" Nick started. "What are…"

Warrick shook his head. "You'd have no way of knowin', Nick. It's just … Man, this is just … the password on Kenny's Doomsday Virus I unleashed?"

Nick nodded slowly, waiting.

The password was the first letters of thirteen words. "Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste."

Nick swallowed, as the words sunk in. He could hear Mick Jagger's voice and the eerie chorus running behind him as he sang the opening refrain to "Sympathy for the Devil".

The flight attendant was a beautiful Chinese woman, very petite, hair done up in a tight bun, makeup accentuating her dark eyes. She carried a small notebook as she made her way down the middle aisle of the first class section of the plane.

The captain's voice floated in over the loudspeaker. "Ladies and gentleman, on behalf of Lotus Air I'd like to welcome you aboard our non stop flight from LA to Macao. Our flight time will be approximately fourteen hours, so please sit back and relax and enjoy your flight. Our lovely flight attendants will make sure all of your needs are met. Please don't hesitate to let us know how we can make your trip more comfortable. The boarding gate is closed and we will be completing our final check list and departing shortly. Thank you again for choosing Lotus Air."

She approached the passenger in the third row, his legs crossed in front of him as he paged through a very old looking red leather bound book.

"May I get you a drink, Sir?"

His head turned slowly to look at her. She would have thought him very handsome for an older man, but for his eyes. Ice cold and devoid of any life. She drew back a bit at the sight of them, shivering slightly even though the plane was already uncomfortably warm from sitting on the California tarmac.

"Single malt scotch. Neat," he replied frostily.

She stammered a bit, then mumbled a, "Very good, Sir," hastily jotting his drink order on her pad.

The passenger moved a hand to pluck at a non-existent speck of lint on his expensive suit trousers, revealing the front cover of the book. She noted the Chinese characters embossed in gold leaf on the cover and instantly translated them in her head.

Sun Tzu. _The Art of War_.

The End

* * *

That's it! Ride's over folks! Please wait until the vehicle has come to a full and complete stop before exiting.

Feel free to stay a while and read our Authors' Note!

We would like to thank the readers for all of their support during this endeavor. We've been thrilled by the constant feedback. People's comments have been some of the best: detailed, constructive, and just plain curious. It means a lot when readers try to analyze things, or react in certain ways…sort of like feeding the happy bunnies. Thank you.

Big Thanks to Amy! You did an amazing job researching some of the tougher aspects of this story without having a clue what the plot was about. Your data and suggestions made writing the evil Madame Chu scenes as accurate as possible and all of your tips really guided us in how to handle Nick's reaction to the scorpion toxin.

Kristen:

Foremost, I'd like to thank my co-author Beth for this wonderful experience. I remember e-mailing her back and forth one day after _Off Road _and mentioning this idea; a very basic premise for a story. Then I wrote _Dark Days _and she wrote _Tabula Rasa_. Some time in between we agreed it would be fun to write it together. This was the first time where I experienced writing chapters as cohesive things together. We each took parts and wrote them out, fiddling and editing. We each took time to research, send notes, random ideas via e-mail, IM, and so forth. I'm so pleased by the results. Sometimes I forget who wrote what part.

This was an amazingly fun thing to write. We both wanted a break from deeper character studies and this was sort of an open book to do whatever the heck we wanted since the pretext was action/adv...Something not typical for _CSI_, while remaining as realistic as possible. No matter what, realism is the key and the devil is in the details! Thanks, Beth, for being such a great co-author. You're the best!

Also thanks to Poncholives for reading things over from time to time, when I needed a second opinion and for any pre-feedback. You've been great Ann!

My next project will be parts case file, character study and some action. I've been molding it for quite some time and it will be the most layered story to date in terms of themes and plot. It will be set during season 6 and the undertone will be reactions from the season and some much needed dissection from DLG, during a very grueling, grisly, case. It's Nick and Grissom friendship, although it will be different from what I've written before.

Beth:

I want to thank Amy personally for her help with all the medical hoo-hah. The torture scene just wouldn't have been the same without it! Kristen told me how she asked you for weird esoteric medical information, without divulging the reasons or plot behind it, and you gamely came up with everything we needed to keep our boys bloodied but unbowed. Thank you, again, as it truly added the "realness" we both strive for.

And, Kristen…. Ahh, Chickie. What can I say, except to share with everyone the story I told you about the first review I ever received from you. I was so very new to the site, had no clue who anyone was behind their funny looking pennames. I had read a series of stories by someone named Kristen999, and loved each and every one of them for the way in which she captured Nick's character. Of course, it helped that she liked to whump on the poor soul! I began my first story, feeling completely out of my depth and wondering if anyone would ever care about my little endeavor, after more than a couple chapters went by without a review. Chapter 9 gets posted and I get the most incredibly gratifying review ever. It is of course, from the still mysterious Kristen, and SHE LIKED MY STORY! I haven't told any of my friends or family about my writing, and I had this incredible thing that I needed to share. I called my sister and babbled to her about how I was actually writing this story, and there's this author that I really liked and really respected and SHE LIKED MY STORY! My sister, to her credit, tried to be excited for me, but just didn't get it. It was like being a Little Leaguer being tapped on the shoulder by Babe Ruth and having the Babe tell me, "Nice job, kid."

And here we are, mere months later, and first she helps me up when I stumbled on _Tabula Rasa_, and now I am humbled to say that I wrote a story with the Babe. It was an incredible experience. She is so unselfish and easy to work with, and I have never had more fun or been happier at the new friendship made. My dearest hope is that an opportunity presents itself to do this again. That said, I am happy to let everyone know that I have been given the privilege of getting a First Look at her newest epic. And Holy Mother of My Dog… it is shaping up to be the best thing I have read from her yet. Truly awe-inspiring.

And our readers _are_ the best! What incredibly well thought out, constructive, wonderful reviews we received. Thanks always for taking time out of your busy lives to drop us a line or twelve!

(Just read Beth's comments, now I'm cheeks are very red although I doubt she'll let me edit them. LOL)-K


End file.
